


Masque of Life

by Moon_Rose (Moonrose91)



Series: Shades of Life [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bullying, Child Abuse, F/F, F/M, Gen, Human Names Given To Everyone, M/M, Original Names for the Dwarves and Bilbo and some such will be nicknames, Tormenting, Well almost everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 28,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/pseuds/Moon_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thaddeus "Thorin" Oakley has never had much use for useless, spoiled, rich bratlings that get underfoot, that think they are better than all around them.</p><p>Unfortunately for William Bagshawe, he fit the very <i>image</i> of "useless, spoiled, rich bratling" that Thorin had in his head and there was nothing that could <i>ever</i> change Thorin's mind about the fragile looking bratling.</p><p>Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impression Doesn't Mean Accurate Impression

**Author's Note:**

> No one says a _word_. This is going to be another slow update one.

Thaddeus Oakley, Thorin to his friends and family, glowered at the Freshman that was standing at the front of the room, wondering how the  _boy_ had gotten into the class usually reserved for juniors and seniors.

 _Probably had his mommy and daddy pave the way with their money,_ Thorin mentally sneered as his eyes dragged along William Bagshawe's outfit, from the pristine white dress shirt with navy blue tie, the matching blazer, and trousers, down to the shoes, all of it meant to impress as a goodie-two-shoes who could do no wrong.

_As if._

William Bagshawe, with his little attaché case and his outfit meant to make him seem better than everyone, was everything Thorin hated. He had everything given to him on a silver platter, instead of having to work for anything and the fragile thing with his mess of honey curls stood next to Professor Aulay "Call me Aule" Ironwood as he introduced the pipsqueak to the class, a hand clasped over the shoulder comfortingly, speaking of his wish for them to accept the small thing with open arms (though Aule's  _exact_ words was, "Class, this is William Bagshawe, and I hope that you are warm and welcoming to him, as this is his first day at a new school and I am sure all of you remember how that felt. And, if you can't be welcoming, at least be polite. Metalworking is a dangerous elective and I'll not have anyone risking another's health while in here.")

"Keep him from the Company, Dwalin," Thorin growled lowly into into his best friend, and cousin's, ear.

"Aye," Dwalin answered, eyes narrowing at Bagshawe (more like  _Baggage_ ) as the spoiled brat walked to an empty stool and perched on it like some tottering bird that was too sick to sit properly.

Thorin gave a snort full of contempt and focused on Aule as he began to talk them through the beginning rules and such of metal shop.

*~*~*

Thorin snorted with contempt once more when he saw the Rich Brat (he didn’t deserve a name such as _William_ , the cowardly thing) sitting in the lunch room, in a corner, not eating.

Apparently, he did not find the fare within the cafeteria worthy of him to eat and had not brought food himself, unable to fit in the attaché case a lunch. Of course, not, why would the Rich Brat need anything like that?

“Doin’ schoolwork, looks like,” Bofur suddenly stated and Thorin resisted the urge to snarl at the behatted friend before he groaned.

“Where’s Nori _now_?” Thorin demanded, fully pulled from the Rich Brat.

Not like that _Halfling_ was worth his time. “Said something about the bathroom,” Bofur stated, nearly flippantly, and Thorin resisted the urge to bash his head against the table that his group of friends (affectionately, and not so affectionately, called the Company) had commandeered when Thorin had first walked through the doors and now was missing one of the members still within the school.

Like it usually was.

“Bathroom? More like ditching, again,” Dwalin growled out and Bofur gave a shrug while his younger brother, Bombur, continued to munch on his lunch that he had made and packed himself. Bombur was an excellent cook and any meal held at the Hastings home was generally guaranteed to be delicious.

The lunch bell rang and Thorin sighed, eyes catching the navy blue form of the Rich Brat leaving the cafeteria calmly, his attaché case in one hand, before he noticed that Bombur was already gone, with Bofur, and various other friends, leaving him only with Dwalin, as Gloin had run off in an attempt to woo his lady love.

“That pining is starting to get ridiculous,” Thorin muttered lowly as he stood, swinging his backpack over his shoulder, Dwalin following suit before they began to walk out.

Thorin didn’t bother apologizing when he bumped into the Rich Brat, who stumbled into the lockers and Dwalin did not either, even when he stepped onto the attaché case.

It would do the Rich Brat good, anyway, to learn that life was not fair.

Besides, it wasn’t Thorin’s problem either way.

*~*~*

William Bagshawe (though he preferred “Bilbo”, none had called him that consistently since his parents’ death) would be lying if he said he expected school to be different from where he survived.

(Living was not what he would call it, not now, not ever, for it had not been _living_ since his parents died in the car accident, leaving him with his cousins from his father’s side of the family, and the place he survived at was not home, not since his “guardians” had taken over his life so completely, leaving him isolated and without any freedom.)

He had long learned that he was the smallest and the weakest and none would save him. He did not have money for food on him, not after it had been taking by three larger, muscle bound, morons who had ripped it from his attaché case and destroyed his assignments from classes, forcing him to stay after to get copies, apologizing over and over for losing them.

The only one who hadn’t sighed over the loss was Aule, who had merely handed another, thanking William (he had almost asked Aule to call him Bilbo, because Bilbo desperately missed being called that, but couldn't bring himself to) for his consideration.

Now, he was heading out the front to where the only one who still called him Bilbo, though only the bad-bad days, waited.

On the days were so bad that Edwin, his driver and bodyguard, would hide Bilbo in his room and comforted Bilbo as best he could while seeming far more broken than Bilbo ever could be.

“Mr. Bagshawe, how was school?” Edwin questioned as he carefully took the attaché case (not Bilbo’s choice, never his choice, _always_ his _guardian’s_ choice) from Bilbo’s grip as he opened the back door for Bilbo.

“As expected Edwin, thank you,” Bilbo answered as he stepped into the backseat, wincing when his backside settled against the seat, unable to suppress the feeling now that he was _safe_ within the car Edwin drove.

Bilbo was sore and he hurt all over, both inside and out and the caning he had received (the caning that was hard enough to raise bruises and made it hard to move) yesterday for whatever reason his “guardians” had deemed necessary had him slowly curling up on the backseat, instead of sitting properly.

Edwin didn’t correct him, gloved hands tightening on the wheel as he pulled out.

“Expected Mr. William?” Edwin questioned.

“It’s not worse than where I survive,” Bilbo admitted softly and hid his face against the seat.

The drive was silent after that, interrupted only when Edwin said, “Mrs. Sanford-Bagshawe is going out tonight with Mr. Sanford-Bagshawe, so the house should be empty tonight.”

For the first time in a while, Bilbo smiled.


	2. Beginnings of Bonds

Bilbo knew that his first day at Erebor High School was just a  _taste_ of what his school life was going to be like, and that first day told him it would be miserable.

And, as his luck dictated, the next day proved to be _worse_ than the first.

On the second day of school, he managed to stumble straight into meeting the three _largest_  muscle-bound idiots in the entire school.

Well, at least they _acted_ like idiots when they, in fact,  _weren't_.

They were as smart as they were big, and had a wicked sense of how best to hurt those around them. They loved to torment and abuse, something Bilbo learned rather quickly after their first meeting when the small freshman just so happened to have stumbled upon them doing so to another. The prospect of fresh meat had them releasing the other boy and, because Bilbo had no one to defend him, he took the place of their escaped victim.

They grabbed Bilbo at random points in the day, laughing and taunting and shoving him so he was sent to the ground to be laughed at by the other students, as well as narrowly missing getting his hands and fingers stepped on, though he did get kicked once or twice.

If anyone was around who _could_ stop any of it, they did nothing, but that was nothing new to Bilbo.

By Friday, Bilbo had his favorite class, which was English with Mr. Kiaran Greenwood, whose wife was Mrs. Gabrielle Greenwood, the teacher of his second favorite class, U.S. History.

They were his favorite classes because they were the first classes of the day, omitting on Friday, when they were the first and second periods of the day.

Starting with the first class after either of those two, however, it went rapidly downhill.

Metal shop, just before lunch for fourth period when he had it, was his only neutral class, where he loved the teacher and what he did within the class, but otherwise despised the experience, an outsider by “pure chance” in such a way that it was probably engineered by his guardians.

Considering they did their best to isolate him, this would make sense.

He resisted the urge to shudder in fear as he crossed his way over to an open seat in Aule’s class, stumbling a bit as one of the students (not Thaddeus or Dwight, the pair that seemed as thick as thieves) tripped him and his hand flew out to catch himself.

The sharp pain that sliced across his palm  _burned_ and he let out a sharp hiss of pain, drawing his hand back to find that it had been sliced open, a red line crossing his palm like a brand, by a knife that was placed improperly on the desk. He clutched at wrist, his attaché case having already fallen to the ground, and Aule was there, glowering at the group of students that were clustered around this desk, Bilbo tensing over how the heavy-set man towered over him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders to look at the cut on his palm. “Everyone out, now!” Aule ordered, his voice shaking through Bilbo’s bones and then he was being led out, heading rapidly down the halls, his attaché case remaining on the ground as he was pulled away, down the hallways and rushed to the nurse’s office.

*~*~*

Bofur smiled lopsidedly as Nori supported him in. “How did you twist your ankle doing _laps_?” Nori demanded, when they heard Aule (he was their favorite, always willing to show them tricks on how to make things a bit easier with metal, how to make jewelry) ask, “Who is on his contact list you haven’t tried?”

They turned the corner to find Nurse Elliot Perrault leaning down, holding a blood soaked rag to the curly-haired boy’s hand. The curly-haired boy that Thorin despised, for whatever reason, was shaking like a leaf and deathly pale, Aule with an arm wrapped gently around the boy, whose eyes were wide. “Edwin Jeffries,” Nurse Elliot Perrault answered with a low sigh before he pressed another gauzy rag to the boy’s hand and carefully curled it over until the gauze was being held in a loose fist.

“Squeeze tight. Aule, sit with him. Edith, come take care of these two, I need to make a call,” Nurse Elliot stated and Edith, the full-time nurse, smiled as she ushered Bofur onto the cot across from the boy, who was still shaking and shivering.

If Bofur didn’t know better, he would say that the kid was terrified, and he smiled as Edith bustled about, her golden hair swept up into a bun, carefully pushing an ice pack against Bofur’s ankle. “Put it up, Mr. Hastings. Mr. Rivera, make sure he doesn’t move. It’ll keep you _here_ , for once,” Edith stated and Nori chuckled, but sat down next to Bofur in response.

Their voices had the shaking one look up, before he looked back down quickly, gripping the gauze tighter. “Easy there William. Come on, let me help,” Aule murmured and smiled at Bofur and Nori comfortingly before he settled a blanket around Bilbo’s shoulders before he helped lift Bilbo’s hand above his head.

This only seemed to make Bilbo shake more. They were about to ask when Elliot returned. “William, is there a number we can call?” he asked and he nodded, shakily.

“In…in my attaché case, sir. Edwin’s cell number. He doesn’t stay at the house during the day, he goes on errands,” William stuttered out and Elliot frowned before Aule shook his head.

“In my classroom. Nori can get it, can’t you lad? _Without_ getting anything out of it?” Aule asked and Nori held up his hands in surrender before he did just that.

When he returned, William didn’t demand Nori to turn out his pockets, he just told Nori where the cell phone should be. It was a nice one, older model, but still expensive and Nori handed it over to Elliot without looking through it.

And then Nori set the case on William’s lap, calm as could be, though Bofur didn’t think it was just his imagination when he saw the boy blink rapidly, as if expecting Nori to suddenly hit him.

From there, everything was a rush, and by the time Bofur was ready to get back to class, a dark-haired man, tall and lithe, strode into the nurse’s office, looking vaguely familiar to Bofur. “Mr. Jeffries,” Nurse Elliot greeted and Jeffries nodded, the name tickling at Bofur’s memory.

“Nurse Perrault, you said Bilbo was injured?” the man asked.

“Yes. I just need ID and you can get him to the hospital. We’ve stopped the bleeding, but he’ll need stitches and shots, to help prevent any problems,” Elliot stated and Jeffries nodded, even as he pulled out his wallet and showed ID.

Elliot looked questioningly up at the man, opening his mouth briefly before he handed over the sign-out forms. The man wrote quickly, with the ease of one who had done it before, and often, while Nori’s eyes watched the clipboard, ignoring Bofur’s half-hearted tugs to get them moving.

Jeffries was then moving and Nori darted forward as Elliot left to go help and eased a form below the one that the man had filled out before tugging Bofur out of the office, the pair moving rapidly to lunch.

They paused when the man walked past them in a rush, carrying William.

William who clung to the man like one would cling to a parent, the injured hand still above their heads.

When William reappeared on Monday, Bofur wondered how he had missed the boy with the honey curls sitting towards the front of his U.S. History class or the way Mrs. Greenwood had put him where he would never have to walk past people to get to his desk.

And Bofur had to wonder _why_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thaddeus Oakley = Thorin Oakenshield  
> Dwight Finsen = Dwalin


	3. Little Things

Bilbo frowned a bit at his hand, resisting the urge to poke at the gauze that covered the cut, thankful that he was being “allowed” to have an over the shoulder bag instead of the attaché case now, though the price of the bag had been taken out of his skin, leaving purple bruises and raised welts across his back. It was only through practice he wished (not that wishing helped anything) he did not have that kept him from wincing whenever his back touched _anything_ , even if that touch was feather light.

(Bilbo tried not to think of the constant burning that the over the shoulder bag caused, but it was more blending than the attaché case, so Bilbo bared this pain stoically, but when did he do anything else?)

Bilbo spent all of Monday longing to just lie on the cot in Edwin's room that was  _his_  and let Edwin take care of him, but he couldn't.

He had to go to school and make his way through the day. He was silent and taking his mind far away as he was shoved into walls, and sent sprawling to the ground, though it wasn’t bad, not horrible at least.

It could have been worse, but it could  _always_  be worse.

When school finally ended, he collapsed gratefully into the backseat, his back throbbing and nearly in tears. Edwin quickly shut the door and didn’t tell him to buckle up, even if he should have, as he pulled away.

They were well on their way to their when Bilbo let go and began to sob silently into his arms.

*~*~*

Tuesday was…odd.

During U.S. History Mrs. Greenwood said that they would be working on a “partner project”, the first of four major projects that would be due at the end of the quarter. “Pick your partner wisely, for they will be your partner for the rest of the year,” she explained.

Bilbo had resigned himself to waiting to be the last to be picked when the friend of Thaddeus’s (he would have to be thicker than a rock to not realize that he was one of the “Company”) that wore the hat, the one in the nurse’s office on Friday, sat next to him. Bilbo felt his hand twitch involuntarily at that and he stared at the behatted teen with some wariness and a lot of exhaustion.

“Booker Hastings,” he greeted, holding his hand out to Bilbo.

“William Bagshawe,” Bilbo answered, hesitantly taking the hand, distantly remembering times he saw people do that at introductions and didn’t wince when Booker gripped too tightly, the faint pain just another layer to what he already felt, blending with the worse pains.

“Nice to meet ‘ya. Any objections to me bein’ your partner?” Booker asked and Bilbo shook his head.

He laughed and swung his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders, Bilbo biting back a hiss of agony, but unable to stop his tensing of pain and fear. Booker laughed again and tightened his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders, which had him wincing slightly before he looked at Booker. “None,” Bilbo answered out loud, even if it was quiet, though he, in fact, had many objections.

Starting with his invasion of personal space, but it wasn’t like he expected to have any.

“Great! Meet at your house or mine?” Booker asked.

“The public library would be best. Minas Tirith Public Library, specifically, it has a good history section,” Bilbo responded softly.

“What’s wrong with going to one of our houses?” Booker pressed and Bilbo was tempted to demand privacy.

However, the idea of privacy just brought up the memory of the time his male guardian had stormed into the bedroom he slept in, dragged him out of bed by his hair, and had hauled him down to where a broken vase was, his mother’s favorite, and demanded that Bilbo clean up the mess, never mind that it had been his male guardian’s drunken stumbling that had brought about the damage.

In his rage, Bilbo had snapped back and the resulting backhand had been hard enough to bruise his face and caused his eye to swell shut.

Bilbo never learned what had been said to explain it away, but it made him swallow back his immediate response. “My guardians don’t like people coming over without a lot of preparation, so I just thought the library would be best. They have rooms and such that would allow us to have a discussion without interruption,” Bilbo explained, wishing that Booker would remove his arm from his shoulders.

He wasn’t used to people touching him kindly like this, easily and without fear, and…

It hurt from than just the pressure across the welts. “Guardians?” Booker questioned,  _finally_  letting his arm drop.

“Yes. Guardians,” Bilbo answered softly and looked up as Mrs. Greenwood stepped up to their table.

“Mr. Bagshawe, Mr. Hastings, what will your first project be?” she asked softly.

“I like the idea of the Californian Missions,” Booker stated and Bilbo just nodded in agreement.

Mrs. Greenwood smiled warmly and nodded. “If you have need of any help, please don’t hesitate to talk to me. Also remember you are both required to turn in your own essays with alternate sources,” she stated and Booker nodded eagerly.

“And take off your hat, Mr. Hastings,” she added and Booker huffed before he tugged his hat off, his long black hair falling to his shoulders.

Mrs. Greenwood smiled at that and then turned to continue her rounds, Bilbo watching the way that she paused and spoke with all that students in that ethereal way of hers. “Want to start on our project during lunch?” Booker asked.

“I’d hate to interrupt any time you spend with your friends. Maybe tomorrow, after school, at the public library? Edwin can drive us, if that is agreeable,” Bilbo answered, hoping that Booker would just  _agree_  and let it go.

Booker frowned a bit and sighed. “I don’t like going to the library. They don’t allow snacks,” Booker responded and Bilbo felt a cold exhaustion slip into his bones.

“What do you suggest?” Bilbo gave in.

That was best, anyway.

Giving in made it so much easier to survive.

“Why don’t you come to my place after school tomorrow? My older brother can drive us, and then he can even take you home,” Booker stated and Bilbo felt his insides freeze and panic grip his heart.

Visitors were never allowed, unless they were his guardians’ and Edwin would never, could never, leave him alone like that. There were too many variables, too much danger, in letting an unknown drive him anywhere. “That’s…that’s not really an option for me. Having your brother drive me, that is. Edwin can drive me,” Bilbo answered, trying to get his heart to stop hammering, but it only seems to speed up when Booker frowns a bit.

“We’re not going to hurt ya,” Booker stated.

“Oh, no, I know that, but…it’s complicated,” Bilbo explained, already mentally wilting under the frown.

He was nearly to the point of just hiding somewhere, curled up in a corner, and not moving until the final bell rang. But running did not help matters and Booker frowned more with that answer. Before Booker could protest once more, the bell rang and Bilbo did what he did best when given the option.

He ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate group projects.
> 
> They are evil incarnate.
> 
> Also, name help for things;
> 
> Booker Hastings = Bofur
> 
> ...I'm trying to imagine a teenage James Nesbit with long black-brown hair and Bofur's hat. Its...its not really working.
> 
> Or my brain is breaking before I can imagine it.


	4. Voices Can Lie, Actions Cannot

Bilbo tapped his pencil against the table in his usual corner of the cafeteria in a rhythmic pattern as his eyes looked over the math problems laying out before him, not willing to risk being banned from the library if he went there during his lunch instead of here. He frowned over a problem before he began to write out his work, having mentally put it together like a puzzle and now focused on writing it out comprehensively when he heard the sound of chairs being pulled back, followed by the thumps of someone dropping heavy backpacks onto the ground.

He slowly looked up to find himself staring at Booker, who was had his hair braided in  _pigtails_  of all things now (though he still wore his odd hat that was a floppy eared monstrosity) and a red haired, rotound, teen that shared Booker's eyes, and a bit of the face shape, but little else.

He also looked younger.

"Billy, this is my baby brother, Boniface. We call him Bombur, like I get called Bofur," Booker, Bofur, whatever he wished to call himself, introduced.

Bilbo felt he did masterfully at not flinching when he was called _Billy_.

He  _hated_ being called that, especially since everytime someone called him that, he felt the phantom pain of his female guardian pinching the tips of his slightly pointed ears with her nails sharply, along with a phantom pain in his skull from how often his curls had been grabbed and yanked to make him go somewhere when he was deemed to be moving too slow.

"Please don't call me that. Bilbo, if you don't want to call me "William", but please, please, don't call me "Billy". And it is nice to meet you Bombur," Bilbo responded softly and focused back on his math.

Bombur was quiet, but Bofur filled the air with his cheerful chattering and, as time passed, Bilbo felt the far too familiar feeling of being glared at. He didn't look up or around for the source of the feeling, because it did not matter. However, the feeling only grew and two problems later, there was a huff. "I told you we shouldn't have come over here," Bombur stated.

"I need to convince Bilbo here to come to our house for the project and to have Bifur drive him!" Bofur stated and Bilbo focused intently on his math problems.

Of course.

He  _really_ should have expected it. He really should have.

Bofur wasn't sitting with him because he  _wanted_ to. He was sitting with Bilbo because he wanted to convince Bilbo of something that Bilbo  _could not change_.

He looked up at the pair with a low sigh, now with a glance to see that it was Thaddeus who was glaring at him as if Bilbo had just killed a kitten. Bilbo forces his gaze away from Thaddeus and focuses enitrely on Bofur. "Bofur, I  _can't_ have your brother drive me to your home and then to where I live. Not because it would inconvience him, and that's the last thing I want to do, but because Edwin  _has to_ drive me," Bilbo explained patiently before he focused back onto his math problems.

Bofur began to protest, but was cut off by Bombur asking, "Where's your lunch?"

"Didn't bring one," Bilbo answered, glancing up to answer before he looked back down, writing down the proper answer before he went to the next problem.

"Why don't you buy one?" Bofur asked.

"Don't have the money on me to get a lunch," Bilbo responded, carefully omitting the fact all of his cash had been stolen by the Three Trolls, as Bilbo privately called them (and it didn't help that one of them shared Bilbo's name, though he was called "Will"), though he focused on Bofur to give his answer before he looked back down at the math problems.

He heard distant rustling and a warm smell curled into his nose that made him think of long-gone summer days when his mother baked buttermilk honey biscuits and his head shot up to stare in surprise as Bombur carefully unfolds the foil and sets the biscuits next to Bilbo's work, followed by a can of soda. Bilbo stares at the biscuits uncomprehendingly and looks back up at Bombur, not seeing Bofur's small frown.

"Have these. I made them myself," Bombur stated and Bilbo flushed.

"Oh, I couldn't, they're yours," Bilbo protested softly, even as stomach growled softly.

Breakfast was mostly nutritional drinks, since they could be bought in bulk by Edwin and given to him in the car. He didn't have solid food until dinner and barely enough to get through his day to day routine. "I made them. I can give them to whoever. I want to give them to you," Bombur responded and Bilbo flushed more.

"Thank you," he answered softly and carefully picked up one of the biscuits and bit into it.

Practice is the only thing that keeps him from bursting out into tears at the fact the taste and texture is a near replica of his mother's.

But it is a near thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortest chapter of Masque.


	5. Chilled Exhaustion (Graphic Description of Child Abuse...Very Very Graphic. I got a bit sick writing it graphic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter is dedicated to [LectorEl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl) who helped inspire the events that happen in this chapter between Bilbo, Thorin, and Dwalin.
> 
>  
> 
> [Here is the comment thread that inspired it specifically.](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/2733748)

Bofur gives in and gives Bilbo the address at the end of lunch at the final bell. Bilbo packs up his things, thanks Bombur for the biscuits, Bofur for the address. They agree to talk more during lunch tomorrow to set up a better time and then Bilbo is off to his next class.

He’s quiet for the rest of the day and does his work, stumbling when tripped and hiding his pain when his back is shoved. He hit the ground more often than not and no one helps him stand, though many are more than happy to kick him back down. He keeps himself calm, focuses entirely on just getting another foot ahead of him, focusing on getting over the obstacles. Exhaustion had crept into his bones and it hadn't helped that Bofur had run ramshod over his desires to go to the library, the one place he felt safe, having long learned the nooks and crannies no one else knew, not even the librarians.

He bit back a sigh and would have sagged, if he was anyone else, in relief when the final bell rang.

He was exhausted in more ways than one and he had to wait for Edwin, but at least he could hide in the school library till Edwin texted him that he was there.

That almost filled him with energy, but not quite.

Instead he focused on packing up his things, paused to chat with his French teacher, ignored the burning in his back that came from the constant weight against the welts, and then left the classroom, sure that nothing would be different as the Three Trolls hadn't been seen since lunch around the school.

While not perfect, Bilbo had hope that today was better than most.

(And later, he would curse that hope.)

*~*~*

Bilbo had just passed the second hallway branch off from French class when a hand, strong and sturdy, grabs him by the front of the tan jacket he was forced into and hauls him around, _slamming_ him into the lockers.

A bite and race of agony flies up his back, his muscles tensing slightly on instinct and he stares up (he always has to stare up, so few his height, let alone shorter than him that are his age around here) into Thaddeus’s enraged face. Behind him is the second-in-command of the Company, Dwight, and Bilbo stares up at them.

For a moment, he sees Thaddeus falter, as if wondering if he’s in the wrong, before his icy blue eyes harden once more, a snarl spreading across his face.

Bilbo stares back, too tired (too used to this) to fight back. He doesn’t even say anything as he is pressed harder into the lockers, his back _screaming_ at him, the hand gripping at his shoulder so the arm is across his chest, pressing air from his lungs and he’s used to that too.

“Why are you associating with Bofur?” he snarled lowly.

“We have U.S. History together. He sat next to me, not the other way around,” Bilbo answered, hoping it would calm the far larger (over a foot) teen down.

It does the opposite and the lockers rattle and Thaddeus pulls him back to slam him into it again. This time his head hits as well and it makes stars dance before his eyes and he coughs weakly as more air is forced from his lungs, and the pressure across his chest keeps him from getting much air.

He stares up at Thaddeus, and he quietly curses his hopes.

He should have learned that hoping just ended up making it hurt more. “Is he not good enough to pair up with?” Thaddeus demanded, shaking Bilbo a bit and he stared up at the larger teen, knowing that no matter how responded, even if it was just silence, that he would end up getting hurt more.

For some reason that thought made him even more exhausted and it loosened his tongue, somewhat. “Could you please pick this up? I’d like to clean up before my ride gets here. I do so _hate_ to make him wait,” Bilbo sassed.

The rage was almost expected, but Bilbo wouldn’t take it back for anything.

The world was beating him down, but it was nice to see he still had life.

Thaddeus didn’t have much time to do more than grab the lapels of Bilbo’s jacket, however, and shake him a bit when a voice, feminine, shouted, “Hey!”

Thaddeus immediately released Bilbo and backed off, all three looking over to where a female with long blonde hair pulled back in what could be a loose, low, braid or a loose ponytail was striding forward, all righteous fury. She was wearing a loose sport shirt, and Bilbo thought, distantly, that it might be a rugby shirt, but Bilbo didn’t know sports.

He was in too much pain on a daily basis to do so and with no one around willing to teach him, he didn’t particularly have _time_ to gain a love of any.

“What’s going on?” the female demanded, eyes sparking and standing pointedly between Thaddeus and Bilbo.

Bilbo’s tired eyes landed on the braid that was half undone and he watched the way she stood tall against Thaddeus, despite being shorter than him. “A misunderstanding,” Thaddeus answered and left.

The female (woman, really, because Bilbo had a hard time picturing her as a _teen_ , despite her rebelliousness that clung to her) turned to him. “Are you all…you’re a boy,” she stated and Bilbo just nodded.

She frowned a bit. “So it was just an argument?” she asked.

Bilbo considered for a moment, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to say ‘no.’ However, Bilbo was not one to do that, to put another into hot water, so he just gave a weak smile and answered, “A bit. Something else too, but it got out of hand.”

She eyed him, like she didn’t believe him and Bilbo ducked his head slightly to pull out his phone with his left hand, frowning when he realized it was off. Turning it on, he looked up when she said, “I’m Eowyn.”

“William,” Bilbo answered and held his right hand out to her, ignoring the faint buzz against his palm.

Eowyn nodded and shook it harshly, Bilbo barely remembering how his father taught him to shake hands. They released and another buzz had him frowning down at the phone, opening it.

Fear pooled into his gut as he read the first text.

_Guardians with me. Be waiting._

The second was a statement that they were waiting.

“I have to go,” Bilbo managed to get out and tore out of there, tugging his jacket as he ran, ignoring how his head hurt, how he was already panting and short of breath, and how his back was starting to burn.

He knows the only thing that stops “Aunt” Lobelia from slapping him across the face when he gets to them is the fact they are in public.

*~*~*

The minute they cross into the entry way of their home after an unexpected tea invitation (to Bilbo, at least), Othello backhands Bilbo across the face, sending him to the cold tile. “You worthless whelp,” he snarled as he grabbed Bilbo by the back of his jacket and began to haul him down the hallway while Lobelia drifted after them.

“This is what we get, after, out of the goodness of our hearts, we take you in?” she questioned, and Bilbo doesn’t stop himself when the words tumble out.

“You didn’t take me in. You took my money in.”

He may not have even lived a decade when his parents died, but he knew the truth.

It was _his_ inheritance they lived off of, _his_ parents’ livelihood they stole.

He is expecting Lobelia’s hit with the handle of her umbrella across the same cheek that was backhanded and if there wasn’t a bruise there before, there is now.

On the bright side, the lie that he got smacked in the face with an umbrella wouldn’t a lie.

(It was his usual one and with his reputation of being “clumsy” in place, everyone would believe it. Things got worse when it wasn’t believed.)

He slides a bit as he’s tossed into the garage, nearly hitting his head on the concrete. Othello doesn’t hesitate to the cross to him, Lobelia having already drifted off.

The jacket is nearly ripped off of him, and the shirt definitely is. He hears the cloth tear and sees the buttons scatter and another backhand for the damage is given.

He doesn’t fight when he is dragged to the shelving unit built into the wall and he’s tied to it around the middle of his lower arms.

Smart.

Rope burn around his wrists would be hard to cover up.

He isn’t sure what to expect, but when he’s bared, and the whistle of the belt comes down on his thighs, he knows.

It takes the fourth hit before the first cry of pain is ripped from his throat.

And he knows tomorrow is going to be hell.

*~*~*

Edwin goes into the garage the moment Othello leaves, an over-sized shirt and very loose sleeping pants in his grip.

He wants to throw up when he sees how beaten Bilbo is, bruising already showing up, the welts angry and red, but none actually deep enough to bleed (though Edwin knows that a few might start tomorrow) but he pulls out the first aid kit from the hiding place and unties Bilbo, with some difficulty, and carefully lowers the shivering and nearly unconscious Bilbo half onto his lap.

He rubs salve into the rope burns first, carefully wrapping gauze around the injury, silently adding them to the list of things that will scar. He takes pictures, though he hates to, in hopes that one day someone will save Bilbo, or he can help someone save Bilbo, but Edwin’s tried and he’s terrified of what they’ll do to Bilbo if he tries again.

He patches his young charge up as best as he can, gets him into loose clothing, the entire time Bilbo trembling and flinching and Edwin hates himself just a little more when he has to pick Bilbo up. He does his best to make it as painless as possible, but Bilbo whimpers in agony all the same, somehow still conscious.

And with that, Edwin carries him to the bedroom Edwin has in the manor home. He settles Bilbo onto what is technically Edwin’s bed, and sits in the chair. He doesn’t touch Bilbo once Bilbo’s settled and, when Bilbo’s finally succumbed to sleep, he hides his face in his hands and sobs, apologizing every time he has enough air to form words.

Though if to Bilbo or to the spirits of his parents’, Edwin isn’t sure.

(In the back of Edwin’s mind, he thinks it is to both.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets better, eventually.
> 
> Also...I got sick writing this.
> 
> Just...I dry heaved and I cried and I cut out most of it.


	6. Suspicions and Visits (Sort-of Suicidal Thoughts, more like "Wish I was Dead" thoughts, implied)

“What happened to your face?”

Bilbo didn’t look up at Bofur when he answered, “An umbrella handle.”

He wished he could be standing, but that hurt almost as much as sitting, though sitting often had him wondering what would happen if he whimpered and cried instead of just yanking it all inside, keeping that reaction locked up. As it was, he kept shifting uncomfortably, hoping that may if he shifted to the right spot, it wouldn’t fill his entire being with near-blinding pain, though he was having no such luck. “Wow, you really _are_ clumsy aren’t you?” Bofur questioned and Bilbo gave a one shouldered shrug he regretted instantly.

He missed Bombur’s eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion of what was said, and the way Bombur pulled out a brown bag.

He did _not_ miss it touching his arm, however, and he felt tears well up in the corner of his eyes at his sudden movement, agony setting his nerve endings on fire. He shifted slightly and looked at Bombur in confusion.

“For you,” Bombur stated, as if this would clarify everything for Bilbo (which it really didn’t) and Bilbo stared at the small brown bag before he slowly began to pack up his things, putting them away into his bag.

Bofur looked between Bombur and Bilbo in slight confusion, even as Bilbo pulled the bag over to himself and opened it. There was soda, because very little else kept well, and a small sandwich on white bread with ranch dressing and cucumbers. “That looks like Bifur made it,” Bofur stated while Bilbo began to munch on the sandwich quietly, accepting the food because he doubted Bombur would let him get away with not eating.

He may not know Bombur well, but he figured he knew Bofur’s younger brother well enough to know that as a fact, even as he popped the can so he could have some caffeine.

Exhaustion was starting to tug at his brain and he wished, not for the first time, that he could just lay out on his stomach and sleep.

“He did,” Bombur confirmed as he began his own meal, Bofur eating from the cafeteria.

Bilbo was quiet as he ate his first real food of the day, listening to the brothers talk (well, Bofur talk and Bombur make humming noises) and started when Bombur handed over a biscuit. He stared at Bombur, wondering how the boy got such bright red hair when his brother’s hair was black-brown, but the answers weren’t there for him to see. Bombur just pushed the biscuit over more and Bilbo looked between it to Bombur. “I noticed you really liked it, so I saved one for you.”

It was the longest sentence Bilbo had ever heard Bombur say and Bilbo carefully took the biscuit, his arms aching across the rope burn and his back is twinging, his thighs and posterior _burning_ , and he begins to eat it, eyes closing slightly as he does so.

He focuses on the memory of sitting in the kitchen of the cottage his father built for his mother and his father’s pipe tobacco smell filling the air, and laughter there. Phantom lips brush against his hair, and there is laughter in his ears and…

The bell rings and his eyes snap open in surprise.

The biscuit is long gone and both the brothers are staring at him in varying levels of concern. Bilbo grabs his things, his trash, and runs out, tossing the trash into the garbage as he goes, ignoring how it hurts, it hurts so much to run, but he can’t stay.

Because he knows, if he stays, this is going to hurt so much more.

It always does.

*~*~*

Bilbo almost wishes he could beg out of meeting Bofur at his home, but promises were made and Edwin even agreed to drive them all, so he couldn’t even ease the pressure off of his injuries. He resigns himself to Bofur filling the air and Bombur’s silent munching on some snack he’s got packed away.

He’s a bit surprised when Bombur shares and when he doesn’t mind Bofur’s chattering, especially as they drive out of Moria, through Hobbiton Hill, and down into Breetown, the seedy side of Arda, the wrong side of the tracks and all that implies.

Edwin doesn’t even twitch at it all, acting as if he drives through here daily and Bilbo wonders why they live here before, mentally, chastising himself for thinking that everyone would live up in Minas Tirith Heights, such as himself, or even in Rohan Downs, despite going to Erebor High School. “Long drive,” Bilbo stated, and left it at that.

He almost wished he was in their position; in a tiny home, or apartment, with some family member who would try instead of where he was now, but with his luck (as horrible as it was), he would be in a worse position, or already dead.

Why did his parents have to leave him so much money?

Edwin was suddenly turning and he parked on the street in front of the smallest house Bilbo had ever seen.

The house was all on one story, looking frighteningly cramped, and fading blue with a blackish roof. There were bars on all the windows, and a grated metal door over the wood one. Bofur was already scrambling out excitedly while Bombur followed sedately and then Bilbo grabbed his things and stepped out of the car, feeling so very out of place in his pristine outfit that probably cost more than this house’s monthly payments.

He missed his loose clothing he used to wear and Edwin is suddenly at his back, Bofur suddenly grabbing Bilbo’s wrist and pulling him to the front door (which hurt, it hurt so much, but Bilbo wasn’t sure what to do with the fact Bofur wasn’t _meaning_ to hurt him, something no one besides Edwin did on a regular basis since his parents’ deaths), Bombur following after rather jovially.

The walk up the driveway made them pass a Frankenstein’s monster of a car, in that everything seemed mismatched, if at least for the same brand and year of vehicle some twenty years gone, at least. “Bifur, we’ve brought a friend and his…something!” Bofur shouted as they got inside and Bilbo nearly stumbling over his own two feet as they took a sudden step down into the living room.

Bofur didn’t relent on his grip, grinning all the while as he pulled Bilbo through the living room that had a couch that was covered in a butterfly print, a leather recliner that looked like it had seen better days, but was still usable, and a coffee table before an “entertainment center” that was a TV on sturdy cabinet with a DVD/VHS mix attached, music playing from the TV as the DVD’s screensaver bounced around.

They were through the dark colored carpeted room and stepping up onto tiled floor and into the kitchen that had a rickety table, with five chairs around it, one of which was occupied by an older, slightly, man with a nasty scar across his forehead and wild black hair that was pulled back in a ponytail.

His hands fluttered, making shapes and movements, gestures that Bilbo could not follow, and he felt ever more out of place as Bofur shook his head. “Nope. This is Bilbo. He’s my partner at school for U.S. History, the only one I’ve got without the Company. We’re going over prilimanry stuff today. Bombur’s been feedin’ him,” Bofur chirped out and then tugged Bilbo forward, causing Bilbo to be very thankful he had so much practice keeping quiet when he shouldn’t have.

“Bilbo, this is Bifur, my big brother. He’s 18, has a car, which we call the Clunker That Keeps on Clunking Knock on Wood, and is the greatest big brother ever, excepting myself,” Bofur introduced and Bilbo smiled weakly before he held his hand out.

“Nice to meet you Bifur. I’m sorry for the trouble. This is Edwin. He’s my…driver, I guess is the best way to put it,” Bilbo answered and felt his smile tighten slightly in pain as Bifur shook his hand, the shaking making his back protest.

Their hands parted and Bilbo was being dragged off down the hallway while Edwin took a seat at the kitchen table, already engaging Bifur in polite conversation, the two brothers hauling Bilbo down to their room.

Well, Bofur hauling and Bombur following after.

*~*~*

The room had a bunk bed for Bofur and Bombur and a twin for Bifur that the larger brother somehow curled up on comfortably on, but it all fit. There was a desk with an ancient computer on it and a shiny new printer that was probably only shiny and new because it had to be and probably set them back some on their cash, and the carpet was soft and plush and dark.

Bilbo knew this best of all because he was lying on his stomach, his head pillowed on the backs of his hands, sort-of like a dog would lie on the ground, and he didn’t care because he was practically painless like this.

Bofur was chattering away about this or that, Bilbo interjecting on occasion and Bombur working quietly on his own homework while sitting on the lower bunk, which was his, and between one breath and the next, without any warning at all, Bilbo fell asleep on the floor, perilously close to Bombur’s foot.

*~*~*

Edwin had to smile over Bifur’s persistence in trying to discover who Edwin was to Bilbo.

Driver was adequate, but not accurate, not completely, and bodyguard would also work.

Friend and protector and failure in both would be proper and he looked up when Bofur, still wearing that odd hat of his, padded into the kitchen. “Um…Mr. Edwin, Bilbo passed out on our floor,” Bofur stated and Edwin managed not to look surprised.

Well, mostly.

He had a feeling Bifur caught it, but Edwin’s sign language was rusty, at best, and practically forgotten at worst. “Does he need to be awake?” Edwin questioned.

“Not…particularly. We kind-of already hedged over what was needed for the project, the research and such just needs to get done now,” Bofur answered.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Edwin asked.

Bofur shook his head, and added, “Bombur neither. He said somethin’ about liking Bilbo where he could see ‘im or somethin’ like that. But he’s on his stomach, on the ground.”

Edwin gave a small shrug. “He likes sleeping on his stomach. He had a bad night last night, so it is natural he’s tired. I’ll let him sleep for another hour, then get him, if that is okay with you Mr. Hastings,” Edwin responded and Bifur waved it off.

Bofur gave a shrug and went back to the room a short distance away, just past the bathroom, and Edwin wondered what those two did to have Bilbo trust them enough to sleep in their presence.

He’d have to ask, but later.

For now, he had a brother to persuade into asking the right questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Bifur is mute.
> 
> Yes, he was using Sign Language.
> 
> No, Bilbo doesn't know what it is.
> 
> But he's going to find out.


	7. Behind this Mask (Bullying and Suicidal Thoughts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is small and he is young. His eyes are wide with fear, but also pained with the memories of similar happening at other times.
> 
> And Bilbo won't let it happen in his presence if he can prevent it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I MADE ANOTHER CHAPTER SUMMARY THAT WAS AN ACTUAL CHAPTER SUMMARY!!!!
> 
> I feel all proud of myself.
> 
> This is a sad chapter, though.
> 
> Actually, it is depressing.
> 
> Read with tissues.

Time passed and the need to finish up the quarter project for U.S. History was hardly pressing, considering it was due no later than October twenty-fifth and only now was it the Friday before Bilbo's fifteenth birthday, but the way Bofur (and Bombur, it seemed) kept trying to spend every free moment with Bilbo to get the project done confused Bilbo completely.

They, well Bofur, didn't seem the type to want to get projects done early. Bilbo did so out of necessity, working on them every second of every day, in private, in secret, hoping against hope that neither of his guardians would find them and destroy them to find excuses to add more scars to Bilbo's collection.

Not that they needed an excuse, as they seemed to take enjoyment out of harming him, much like the Trolls at school did.

He wasn't sure about Thaddeus.

On one hand, it didn’t seem like Thaddeus harmed Bilbo for the sole reason of harming him.

On the other, it also seemed like Thaddeus took some sort of pleasure from bullying Bilbo, though what pleasure it was, Bilbo didn’t know.

He didn’t want to either, because the reasons didn’t change Bilbo’s overall situation, one he had come to accept after being put into the “care” of his “guardians.”

Those that are bigger and older than him would do nothing but cause him pain and despise him for existing, with few exceptions.

And nothing was going to change that.

*~*~*

Bilbo sighed softly as he made his way to the front of the school, having swung by at first to speak with Mr. Ironwood (ignoring the man’s continuous statements to “please call him Aule”) as he wished to have a conversation he always had with his students.

Explaining to the metal shop teacher that he liked working with his hands was hard to explain when the calluses of gardening and wood carving were long gone. Aule had not questioned it, however, saying he suspected as much.

Said the only time he ever saw Bilbo at peace was when they were working on a project, and Bilbo didn’t know how to respond.

So, it had turned to something else. “So, what will you do when you leave high school, William?” Aule had asked, in that way that was gentle and approving and made Bilbo want to smile, but the truth was too hard to contemplate.

(It was a truth that sat in his guardians’ desk, the papers to declare him mentally incompetent so that they could control the estate, even after he turned 18. Because it was a truth, not a likelihood, with his parents’ money behind them and their greed insatiable, and he would probably spend the rest of their lives locked up as a punching bag for when they got angry, no longer having to hide his injuries, but having to keep him _alive_ or they would lose everything.)

Instead, he had told Aule about his desire to study botany at the university, about his wish to open a greenhouse, one day, or maybe follow in his father’s footsteps as an architect, since he had an architectural company already, but he preferred botany and…

Bilbo had spent the following twenty minutes listening to Aule practically _sing_ his wife’s praises, talking warmly and deeply about his wife.

It had been with a heavy heart he had cut their conversation short, lying about how his ride was waiting for him.

(Edwin wasn’t. Edwin was waiting for his text while running errands for the manor house so he didn’t hover around the school.)

Normally, Bilbo would wait in the school’s library, but since the disastrous day of tea, where he had practically been paraded around like a show dog, to show investors that he was alive and kicking and that he knew what was going on within the company his parents (mainly his father) had left him, despite not allowed to actually be part of it and the pain after…

He had not returned to the library at the school. He had abandoned his sanctuary, except for those times before school and never once during lunch.

His salvation and places of safety were dwindling and it would probably only get worse once he was 18 and the papers his guardians had to declare him incompetent, with _his parents’ money_ behind it…

He knew his years of even this tiny freedom would be gone. He would be locked up in the manor house, already a prison, but with that paperwork a prison made air tight.

Maybe he should end it now?

His death, however, would send the company, his _father’s_ company into disarray, especially as Bilbo had no will, nor any way of making one without his parents.

Well, that wasn’t particularly true.

He had, in Edwin’s care, an unofficial will of a sort, leaving everything of his to his third cousin Damian, and his wife (and Bilbo’s second cousin, but not Damian’s), who had a son, Francis (affection ally called _Frodo_ , though Bilbo hadn’t seen the boy since he was born, though the presents Edwin sent for him he knew arrived, Edwin’s post office box always getting letters of thanks).

It was signed by him, but had no witness signatures, nor a lawyer’s, and was challengeable, but not entirely.

Written in his own hand, it could count.

But if he cut his own wrists or swallowed pills, there would be court battles and pain, so much pain, for those left behind to deal with the mess, and good people, _loyal people_ fired and it is those thoughts that stay Bilbo’s hands when the dark closes in around him like a vice.

The dark closing in like now and he pulls out his cell to text Edwin when he hears a voice, high and thin, stuttering out a simple, “Please, leave me alone.”

His head snaps up and over to find the Trolls leering and hovering over someone much too small. He’s not from the school, Bilbo would have probably recognized them. His hair is a soft brown and he’s huddling in on himself, eyes wide with fear, but that isn’t all.

Resignation as well lives there and Bilbo won’t stand for the boy being harmed while he is here.

None save Bilbo. He’s not worth saving, and he knows that now.

(It is best not to think of Bombur’s lunches or Bofur’s warm hugs, even though those hurt, it was never the intention behind them, or even Edwin’s guilt filled eyes as he asks Bilbo how his day is, because that will cause _hope_ , that cursed feeling that it is, to take root in his heart once more, and he can’t allow that, not again, because it _hurts_ so, so, much when it is crushed ruthlessly under Lobelia’s boot or Othello’s hard hand.)

But others are.

“And here I thought that what they said was false,” Bilbo stated, already slipping the cell phone away into safety, so he could text later.

The Trolls turned to him and one grinned, stalking forward. “Will you look at that Bert? It’s Little Billy,” he greeted and Bilbo relaxed as he was grabbed by one of them (he knows it to be William, the other one, but Bilbo likes to pretend he doesn’t know their names) and hauled over, next to the small boy they’ve cornered.

Who left him alone, and Bert, the leader, leans forward.

“What’s true then?” he asked.

“That you’re cowards and belittlers who will pick on someone who gives no resistance and has no ties to the school, so he cannot even, by chance, fight back,” Bilbo returned and Bert’s hand flies.

Bilbo moves with the motion, noting in the back of his mind that Othello hits harder, but this will bruise.

“You don’t fight back,” Tom pointed out with a snotty sniff and Bilbo slowly shifted so he was standing upright once more, Will with a bruising grip on his arm.

His eyes flickered to the boy and he wondered if screaming run would make the child actually do so, or cause the boy to freeze.

“But I _could_ ,” Bilbo stated and that’s enough to get them to haul him up and away.

The boy is trembling slightly as Bilbo is dragged around to the back of the school.

This…this is going to hurt.

The first fist to his abdomen knocks the air out of him and the only thing that keeps him on his feet, in a way, is the grip the other two have on his arms.

And then it is a blur of pain.


	8. Guilt (Mention of Accident and being Caught in Accident, as well as Amnesia)

Orville “Ori” Rivera is used to being teased and picked on.

He’s small, for his age, but his brother Nori always said that he was small at his age too, and he’d get bigger. Dori says that he shares that trait with their father, and then Dori’s throat kind-of closes up all tight and his shoulders shake and Ori knows that Dori is mourning, grieving, and Ori knows why, but at the same time, he doesn’t.

He didn’t know his parents well, always busy before the accident and Ori didn’t remember the accident either, despite being in it. He has the scars to prove he was, but all he remembers from that day is the puzzle he and Nori started.

And then he woke up in the hospital the next day, feeling funny and with Dori sleeping next to the hospital bed and Nori in the doorway, looking like someone had just punched him in the gut, and completely confused.

The memories of that day had yet to return, not even in nightmares, or nightmares that Ori could remember at any rate.

So he continued being bullied and hiding his scars under baggy knitted things and following around Nori with his insatiable curiosity, wondering why the “be for the best if they were raised by…” calls that Dori got stopped when Nori suddenly returned one day with a tattoo on his right shoulder blade and made Ori swear to never tell Dori.

Ori swore it and he never told.

Life was a bit harder after his parents died instead of just disappeared, but the tea shop they all lived over was thriving and so Ori was happy.

He wasn’t lacking anything, except friends.

And while Fili and Kili were wonderful and all, Kili often didn’t know when to stop his teasing and Fili rarely wanted to draw his brother back, happy that his dark haired twin was happy.

Even if it meant that Ori would sometimes dissolve into tears and Kili _wouldn’t_ be happy anymore, apologizing frantically, but sometimes too little too late.

So, when Dori had come down to the high school to talk to the probably about to be suspended for skipping school or starting a fight Nori, he had brought Ori with him.

He really hadn’t had a choice, as there was no one to watch Ori and, while Ori hadn’t wanted to sit on the front steps and wait for his brothers to come out, at the same time he _knew_ that there was probably going to be yelling.

Actually, it was a guarantee, but Ori hoped the yelling would happen here and not at home, so he could avoid it.

So, when the large high schoolers had leered over him and pulled him away from the steps, Ori had half-expected it.

He hadn’t expected someone barely taller than him to stride in and get dragged off.

To save him.

Because while Ori never doubted his brothers’ love for him, he knew that they couldn’t save him from the bullies.

And he didn’t expect strangers to.

But one had and so Ori did the one thing that he could do in the situation.

He ran inside, shouting for Dori the minute he was past the front doors.

*~*~*

Dori’s head snapped over to the door as he heard Ori’s familiar shouts, usually when Nori was getting into fights and even Nori looked up in surprise as Principal Mailand, with his clipped white beard and hair, glared as the door to his office was thrown open and Ori rushed in, the secretary trying to catch him.

“Dori!” Ori cried and threw himself at his elder brother panting and shaking.

He had to have run, and Dori was immediately focusing on Ori instead of the fact Nori had missed every day of school this week but this day. “What’s wrong?” Dori asked.

“There…there were these three big guys, and they were mean and…and…then this curly haired boy, he was barely bigger than _me_ , he got them to drag him off! They’re hurting him Dori, I _know_ they are! They wanted to hurt me and the curly haired boy, they called him Billy but he didn’t like that, they weren’t _nice_ when they called him that, he drew them off and you have to help! Please, Dori, _please_ ,” Ori begged, clinging desperately to Dori’s long sleeved shirt, the one that had the tea shop’s name across the front, all cheery and bright.

It contrasts heavily with Ori’s obvious distress. “Excuse me Principal Mailand,” Dori stated and was out the door, carefully pushing Ori into Nori’s arms as he ran.

He was faster than his brother and he did not pause at Thorin’s questioning voice, despite Dori being more Balin’s friend than Thorin’s, but he knows Thorin will follow.

Dori doesn’t hesitate to rush out the front doors and he sees, to his left, a forgotten over the shoulder bag, distantly registering the doors slamming open behind him. But the bag is enough to have him rushing around that corner to find, in the back of the school, with no windows and half-hidden by the big electrical unit of some sort, three large boys, two holding up a much smaller form, the third beating up on the smaller form, who was not even crying out.

Dori feels his words stick in his throat upon seeing the smaller form with his eye already swelling shut and lips split and that is enough to get Dori moving with a booming, “What is going on here?”

The three lumbering bullies cut it and run, dropping the curly haired boy onto the ground and Dori doesn’t pause in kneeling down next to the curly haired boy, who is panting. The boy flinches all over when Dori leans over him, but Dori makes soft soothing noises and he ignores a strangled sound from above that comes from whoever followed him.

Instead, he’s getting the boy to calm down (and he really is barely any taller than Ori, but he looked far more fragile. His cheekbones were predominant and he just didn’t look healthy and warning bells were going off in Dori’s head and the boy was trying to get up, but Dori is shushing him gently and getting him to lay back on the grass.

Only then does he look up at…

Bofur, who was is staring down at the curly haired boy with horror-struck eyes. “Bofur, call the hospital. Now!” Dori ordered and Bofur is turning and running.

At the corner is Thorin, who does not stop Bofur, but instead looks down the path, and Dori wonders what hasn’t reached Balin’s ears yet.

Because that is Thorin’s guilty stance.

Dori doesn’t have long to think on it, however, because the boy is trying to fight his way up, muttering something about ‘no hospitals’, but Dori just tries to soothe him back down.

He doesn’t know the boy, but he already needs to thank him for saving his baby brother.

And he’ll start with insuring that the boy gets to the hospital.

(But the boy is still fighting as the wailing of sirens fill the air, and when the paramedics work on getting him on a gurney, and Bofur is begging to be let into the ambulance, that no, no he's not family, but please, he's a friend, and then Elliot Perrault is there and offering to go as an adult, and they are off, with Elliot holding the boy's bag on his lap. And Bofur remains, looking lost and confused and so very conflicted, until his brother Bombur tugs him away toward the bus stop.)

(And Thorin never stops looking so very guilty.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have mentioned before that Elliott Perrault is Elrond.
> 
> Just saying.
> 
> Also, Guilty!Thorin wasn't originally supposed to happen till later.
> 
> So...next chapter has Guilty!Thorin talking with Disapproving-but-wiling-to-listen!Balin.


	9. Talking and Realizations

Baldwin looked up at the Oakley Manor as he parked the car, wondering why his baby brother (and oh, how Dwight hated being called that) had called, sounding so very concerned about Thaddeus, and so Baldwin came.

He stepped out of the car, running his hand through dark cinnamon hair as he walked up the steps to the front door. He rang the doorbell, having let Dwight borrow the key for the Oakley Manor and he nodded his thanks to the butler, Arthur, as he stepped through.

"Cousin Balin!" came twin voices and Baldwin smiled as he knelt down to catch the two thirteen year old boys, the second set of twins Aunt Dorothy had brought to the Oakley family, as they threw themselves at him in a hug.

"Finley, Kelsey," he greeted as the door shut behind them and both boys made a face at their given names.

"We prefer Fili."

"And Kili!"

Baldwin chuckled at that and gently tapped his forehead to theirs before he shooed them off, specifically back to where Fredrick was standing.

The older brother to Thaddeus, and fraternal twin to Diana, nodded to the back, even as his baby brothers began an attempt to climb up him, giggling madly as they swore vengeance for not being the first twins born to the Oakley name.

Baldwin sighed softly at that nod, even as Fredrick began to curse the boys, and headed to the back of the house, already hearing the low thump of a dull sword hitting a wooden dummy.

As he walked closer, he could see Dwight watching from the glass patio door and Baldwin knew, whatever it was, the guilt was probably ripping Thaddeus apart inside.

For, despite being second cousins to the Oakley family (through their father), they had spent so much time at the Oakley Manor that they more often than not called it home. They shared a closeness that was usually reserved for siblings, though only Thaddeus with his two younger brothers could lay claim to the same type of closeness Dwight and Thaddeus (and to some extent, Baldwin) shared.

He cleared his throat slightly and Dwight looked back at him before he immediately looked down at the floor and Baldwin sighed again.

Whatever it was, it was something both parties had a hand in and he had a feeling, deep within his gut that he was going to be frowning disapprovingly at them when it was all said and done.

"Wait for me in the kitchen," Baldwin stated and Dwight immediately slumped off to do so, instead of waiting at the patio door.

An afghan was there at the back of the chair and Baldwin picked it up before he stepped outside, as silent as a cat on the prowl.

Now, within the backyard of Oakley Manor, he had a clear view of Thaddeus swinging a broadsword around, long hair tied in a ponytail, his shirt soaked in sweat. He was panting heavily and there was deep gouges in the dummy he had set up.

It was something he did when he was feeling guilty, when he had realized that he had done someone a terrible wrong and didn't know how to fix it.

It was how Bishop, Booker, and Boniface had joined the Company of Thaddeus's Friends.

Baldwin still didn't know the whole story behind that, but he had a feeling, whoever Thaddeus had wronged now, would be joining the Company within the week.

It would be the first step Thaddeus would take in forgiving himself, which he never did easily. "Do you have time to speak for an old friend?" he called for the doorway and Thaddeus finished his swing before he looked over at Baldwin, shaking slightly in the chill of autumn.

October was fast approaching and the chill was probably not good for him, early though it was in the evening that had laid claim to Arda.

"Balin, always. And you're not old," Thaddeus answered as he walked over to the table gathering the polishing bottle and rag.

When Thaddeus finally settled where the light from the house mingled from the light of yard, Baldwin stepped forward and settled the afghan around Thaddeus's shoulders before sitting next to Thaddeus while the teen began to work on cleaning his blade. "I feel old, especially when I come out here to find you trying to beat your guilt into a dummy," Baldwin answered calmly and Thaddeus winced.

"Is it that obvious?"

Baldwin hummed softly and distantly wished he had his pipe, though he had sworn long ago that he wouldn't smoke around those below the age of 18 if he could help it.

He could help it now, even if he desperately  _wanted_ his pipe.

"There've been no deaths recently, so you’re not in that angry-depressed mindset and Dwight wouldn't have been hovering at the door if that was the case. Your father would have, you know it, no matter what sort of party they had to attend tonight. You're not glaring at me, so you aren't irritated with someone. Thus, it must be guilt," Baldwin answered and Thaddeus paused in his care of his blade before he went back to it, hunching over slightly.

"Balin, have you ever done something so horrible, so  _wrong_ , that you don't know how to fix it?" he asked softly.

Definitely needed his pipe.

"Depends. We all make mistakes, Thaddeus. We all do things we regret. It is how we handle those mistakes that decides if what we’ve done something so horrible, so wrong, that it is unfixable,” Baldwin responded carefully.

Thaddeus only seemed to hunch over more, now quite focused on his broadsword. Baldwin waited calmly for Thaddeus to speak.

“There’s a boy…at a school. He’s…he’s a freshman. He’s in my metal shop class. I…he was dressed like he stepped out of a catalogue, his clothes cost more than house payments in Breetown, and I hated him on sight.”

“Oh, Thorin,” Baldwin breathed out and Thaddeus flinched so badly that Baldwin knew it wasn’t the end.

“I was cruel to him. I thought it would toughen him up, show him the world wasn’t kind. I…I never looked beyond his clothes. He sat in the corner, and…I wasn’t the only one, but I didn’t see that. And he took Bofur and I was angry and I wanted answers. And Bombur fed him and Bombur _watches_ him, like he never does unless he thinks something wrong and that made me angrier…and crueler. And then he stepped between the Three Trolls at school and little Ori and…and he was taken to the hospital. And…I realized then that I had everything wrong. He wasn’t the rich brat…I was. And I couldn’t even run inside to call the hospital, or tell a secretary, I could only stand and watch while Bofur did that. I was wrong and I hurt him…and I enjoyed putting him in what I thought was his place,” he continued softly, bowing more under the weight of his guilt and Baldwin refused to sigh again.

“Thaddeus, I’ll not let you off easy about this. What you did was wrong, on so very many levels. I’m suspecting Dwight went right along with it, which is why he can’t look me in the eyes,” Baldwin stated, ignoring the full body flinch that went through Thaddeus’s body, but not the nod of agreement.

Baldwin sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, before he looked at Thaddeus. “I thought you had learned your lesson from the Hastings’ Incident, but it seems I was mistaken,” he stated and Thaddeus’s shoulders hunched up to his ears.

Baldwin reached over then and gently placed a hand on Thaddeus’s back, internally wincing at how the teen trembled under his hand. “Thaddeus, _Thorin_ , you _have_ to learn to stop judging from appearances! It gets you in trouble _every time_ and this is the worst sort! You have hurt _an innocent person_ , who has probably suffered greatly without a friend, beyond Bofur who more often than not cannot see what he does not wish to see, and Bombur, who is too shy to stand up for himself, let alone another, unless that other is his brother or cousin and that is _only_ because he knows they’ll come right up behind him to find the words he cannot say! Appearances are deceiving, and you know, as well as I, that whatever mask people show the world, it is not often the truth. Have you ever thought of what this boy might be hiding behind his expensive clothes? Have you even considered why he wears them? Is it because his parents…”

The flinch and the way he twisted away from Baldwin’s eyes, and his touch, made Baldwin close his eyes in pain. “Guardians. Bofur told, when I asked. He doesn’t have his parents anymore. They died before he ever reached high school. He has guardians,” Thaddeus whispered and Baldwin sighed, covering his face.

He desperately wanted his pipe, or for Uncle Theodore to be here, taking care of this, but at the same time…

Uncle Theodore would rumble and shout. Would demand explanations that Thaddeus could not give and not listen to the guilt and grief that would color Thaddeus’s every word.

“How do I fix it?” Thaddeus asked.

It is in a tone Baldwin hasn’t heard since Thaddeus was five years old and trying to figure out why the three year old son of his mother’s friend was sobbing on the floor of the kitchen.

_How do I fix it?_

Baldwin sighed and opened his eyes to stare at the pleading Thorin.

“Start with apologizing. And then, slowly, try to earn his trust. Slowly. Don’t just grab him and drag him into the Company. Nori will be doing that enough for the both of you, he doesn’t need another. Show him you’ll change, don’t just say it. And for all that his holy in this world, don’t drag him into a hug to show how sorry you are! You scared poor Boniface with all of that and nearly had Booker wanting to strangle you!” Baldwin stated and Thaddeus nodded in agreement.

“Do I have to write it down and pin it to Dwight’s shirt?” Baldwin asked.

Thaddeus shook his head ‘no’ and Baldwin nodded.

“Good then. Now come on. You probably should head to bed,” Baldwin stated as he stood up.

Thorin remained on the steps, however and stared up at Baldwin. “Are you still angry?” he asked softly.

“Thorin, I am _beyond_ angry. I am _furious_. I am also furious at Dwight. Were it in my power, you’d both be grounded until I could calm down and figure out how to _really_ punish you both. Just…go inside and go to bed before I lose my temper,” Baldwin responded softly and Thaddeus nodded slowly as he stood and ran into the house.

Baldwin sighed softly and knew that Thorin would probably scream into his pillow that night.

He would probably even cry.

Dwight would do the same.

He glanced over at where Uncle Theodore stood, in his tuxedo and shook his head. “I don’t know whether to be angry or relieved you play at his father so well,” he stated.

“Be relieved. It helps him be better collected when he speaks to you dear,” Aunt Dorothy stated as she passed Uncle Theodore, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Baldwin glanced at the clock and mentally groaned over the fact that it was nearly nine o’clock. “How as the party?” he inquired, instead of heading to the kitchen, grabbing Dwight, and heading home.

He should, but he liked hearing news of the world he had no interest in more than was probably strictly best for him.

The politics of the wealthy, while amusing, made him sick when he heard of the boy with the fortune and how they (‘they’ being in general, for Aunt Dorothy had actually snarled at Uncle Theodore for suggesting such a thing when he brought it up, once, and that was enough to let Baldwin hear the news) kept trying to angle an ‘in’ with his guardians so unions could be written up.

"Ugh, that horrid wretched woman was there, _again_ , tonight,” Aunt Dorothy muttered and Uncle Theodore only nodded in agreement.

“I honestly don’t know what the Bagshawes were thinking when they made those horrid people the guardians to their son,” she continued with a near snarl.

“They didn’t. There was a six month court battle before they got it. They had lost a son, they were married, they had experience, they were considered perfect by the courts. Had their own money, were good at managing, but thank goodness for that Will that took care of all of that, or I am sure there would be _no_ Bagshawe fortune,” Uncle Theodore corrected gently and she frowned.

“Probably no company either. That poor boy, truly. If they’re this horrid at parties, how are they at home?” Dorothy stated and Baldwin knew he could listen no more.

He didn’t know how old the Bagshawe boy was (though the name niggled at the back of his mind), but instead said good-night.

He went to the kitchen and found Dwight waiting quietly.

Baldwin said nothing and when Dwight opened his mouth, Baldwin glared at him. “Don’t. Speak. Just…don’t. If you do, I’ll lose my temper,” Baldwin warned and Dwight’s mouth shut with a click.

He did not complain when he was told to sit in the backseat, and the ride was silent as they drove farther up into Moria.

“Dwight, what _possessed_ you to allow yourself to become a bully?” Baldwin finally asked, once they were safely home.

Dwight hunched over slightly and toed the floor with his boot. “I…I thought Thorin had the right of it,” he answered and Baldwin sighed.

“Blindly following doesn’t excuse you not looking with your own eyes. You’re a thinking, breathing, person Dwight, not an automan. Have you had dinner?”

Dwight nodded.

“Then go to bed. You’ll need it tomorrow,” Baldwin answered and Dwight tore off.

Five years separated himself and Dwight.

And there were days it felt like 100.

Baldwin sighed and covered his face before he headed to his own bedroom.

And he winced when he heard the muffled sounds of screaming-sobs.

He knew the next day, it would all come out.

He knew that Uncle Theodore would be furious, Father would be furious, and the two so deep in the wrong that not even Baldwin could see a way out of it, would feel their wrath.

But for now, they were weighted only by guilt and Baldwin’s disappointment in them.

Tomorrow, it would be so much worse.

And come Monday, if the boy was at school, he could only hope that the boy was a better person than his brother and cousin and accept their apologies and grant them for forgiveness.

(Baldwin knew, also, how forgiveness could hurt even more than guilt. But he would not share that with anyone, and if he stared at the picture of a girl he had lost the right to call _his_  during the first year of university, that was his business, not anyone else’s.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theodore is Thrain.
> 
> Dorothy is Thorin's mother. I picked a name.
> 
> Baldwin is Balin.
> 
> Dwight is Dwalin.
> 
> Finley and Kelsey are both boys and Fili and Kili. (In this version, they are the younger brothers to Thorin, instead of his nephews.)
> 
> Diana and Fredrick are the First Twins, but are very loosely based on Dis and Frerin.
> 
> I had fun with the idea of making Thorin the middle child instead of the eldest, and I couldn't resist.
> 
> Bishop, Booker, and Boniface, are Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur.
> 
> Also, Baldwin/Balin uses their given names over the nicknames, except for special moments.


	10. But What is the Cost?

Thorin felt tense as the school loomed ahead of him.

His father had  _not_ been pleased with him and, as such, he had decided the key way to punish his son was to make him go to school early. Mostly because Thorin had made the mistake of telling his father that the boy he had bullied went to school early.

He went to the school library and hid there.

 _Like a coward_ had been Thorin's old thoughts.

Now, in the clear light of the fact that the boy, that William Bagshawe, had no friends aside from Bofur and Bombur, it was probably a safe haven. It was the one place in the entire school where none would dare touch him, for the librarian was a vicious taskmaster and more protective of the library than a dragon of their hoard. He is stepping out of the backseat, his knees sore, but he sees something else as he tightens his backpack over his shoulders.

He sees the familiar form of William's driver, opening the back seat door and, for the first time, holding a hand out to help the boy out. He watches and mentally winces at how badly the boy looks.

He should not be in school.

William is bruised horrifically down the left side of his face, the cuts standing out slightly. He moves slowly and it is in a manner that suggests bruised, if not cracked, ribs and the attaché case has returned and Thorin realizes that William won't be able to carry his books, not without a great deal of pain.

He should be home.

He  _should be_ and something  _screams_ in Thorin's mind that this is all wrong. Something is wrong and he's _missed it_ because he is a blind fool, even as he registers that, despite still wearing shiny shoes and dress trousers, today has a turtle neck instead of a dress-shirt and no jacket to go with the dress trousers.

"William," he called and the boy looks up at him.

There is a tired resignation in his eyes and Thorin swallows down the bile that has risen in his throat.

Because he put that in there and Thorin can sense William's driver tensing at him being so close to William. "I'm sorry, for my actions and words, and thoughts. I judged you before I knew you and for that I...I am sorry. I'm not asking for forgiveness, I don't deserve it, but I hope you will accept my apology," he stated and he watches William.

Watches as the confusion and the uncertainty take the place of the tired resignation. Sees the fear, the fear that Thorin is just now realizing is  _always_ there, is a backdrop for it all.

"No, no, it is quite all right. I'd judge me before I knew me as well. All is forgiven, truly," William answered with a small smile (uncertain, scared,  _lonely_ , and Thorin, who prides himself on being a master of reading body language, a necessity when he truly got into sword fighting of all kinds as his sport of choice, wonders how he missed it all) before he ran off.

Thorin looks up at Edwin, just barely however, and Edwin stares at him, eyes hard.

He looks vaguely familiar to Thorin, as if he should know Edwin, but right now the man has terrified him.

Because now he understands why Edwin is there every day, without fail, as plain as day.

He's not William's driver, he's William's  _bodyguard_ and the fact he doesn't sit next to William every day is probably a minor miracle.

"I didn't learn about whatever you did the first time, but I ever learn about you returning to those ways, you being a minor will be the only thing that saves you. So long as you don't put him in the hospital," Edwin warned lowly.

And Thorin nodded because, despite the threat on his life, he has a feeling that this threat comes from more than just a duty.

Edwin gives a smile (it is more like a bearing of teeth) and then gets into the driver's side and leaves.

Thorin turns to face the school and heads inside.

He has homework to finish anyway.

*~*~*

Bilbo can’t stop the gasp of pain as he is shoved, his attaché case and books falling from weak arms and spilling across the floor.

He stares at the mess and slowly kneels down and begins to pick it up, snatching his hands back to avoid them getting stepped on, hopefully. It is a near miss, twice, but the third time, his hand is stepped on.

Enough to hurt, but not enough to _harm_ , not really.

He was about to reach out again when suddenly there was another hand there.

Bilbo recoiled slightly and looked up to find the auburn haired ‘truant future gangster’, Norris Rivera. He was quiet and he looked at Bilbo. “Did he break your hand?” Norris snapped and Bilbo leapt into action, even though it hurt, quickly snatching up his things.

He shook slightly and when he tried to get to his feet, his side burning and barely able to breathe through his pain and…

Bilbo couldn’t stop the reaction as someone touched him and he launched himself away, tensing and turning as he curled up against the lockers, trembling with fear.

Norris was still there and looking distantly displeased.

Bilbo swallowed and managed to struggle his way to his feet, swallowing against the bile that rose up from the pain. Between the welts, the bruises, the ribs, and his face, it is a miracle of sorts that he is _walking_ and he knows it.

He should be at the manor, recovering and resting, but he would get neither there.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out and ran, his things tight in his arms, as the late bell for the second class of the day rang.

*~*~*

“Why are you at school?” Bofur demanded as he sat down across from Bilbo, who was trying his best to ease the pain his torso, near tears.

He just shook his head, begging Bofur not to ask, please not to ask, though only within his mind, and there was a strangled sound that made him look up. But Bombur was leaning over and it took everything Bilbo had not to lean away, in too much pain to stop the natural reactions he had to people trying to touch him.

But Bombur was gently pulling the neck down and Bilbo tried to pull away, even as Bofur let out a string of curses. Bilbo finally managed to get Bombur to let it go, knowing what the older teen was seeing.

Bruises from where Lobelia had grabbed his neck after they returned from the hospital, the only thing keeping it from being worse (oh, but the _promise_ was there, for when he healed) was the fact he had been hospitalized, even if it was just for overnight.

And his guardians never left him alone, after they got there.

The lady doctor, Dr. Perrault, had hated it. She had quietly cursed her lack of camera and trying to get back, she had been obviously angry (to Bilbo) over the fact his guardians were there.

He knew she wanted to take pictures of his scars.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that, only that he knew that was what she wanted.

“What happened?” Bofur asked softly, drawing Bilbo back to the present.

_My female guardian grabbed me by the throat and swore to beat me black and blue once I finished healing so I wouldn’t sit properly for a week, at least, for this prank I pulled._

It was the answer he wanted to give. He wanted someone, anyone, to believe him when he spoke the truth.

But, who would believe a child?

(No one.)

“Leave it, please,” Bilbo responded softly.

“Bilbo,” Bofur pushed and Bilbo stood, irrationally angry and terrified out of his mind, shouting, “Just _leave it_ Bofur!”

And then he ran, ignoring calls to wait.

*~*~*

Later that evening, Bofur sighed as he stared at the clock to find it edging on towards midnight. Outside, the sound of Bifur’s car parking could be heard, the door opening, and the soft jingle of keys being tossed.

Then the front door opened again as their mother left and the car was driving off once more.

Their dad was on the road, a trucker born and bred, and their mother more often than not worked the graveyard shift.

And while Bifur mainly made toys, but he also took an odd job or five that brought in extra cash, in hopes they could move to someplace bigger.

Bofur stayed for a moment before he slid down and padded out of the door.

“Bifur?” he called and his muscled elder brother turned to face him from where he sat at the kitchen table.

 _“What is wrong?”_ Bifur signed.

Bofur hesitated, tugging at his hair nervously before he answered, “What do you do when something bad is happening to one of your friends?”

_“Tell their parents.”_

“What if they don’t have ‘em?”

_“Tell their guardians.”_

Bofur swallowed and remembered the bruise, remembered how Bilbo had run, and pressed forward. “What if I think the ‘bad thing’ _is_ my friend’s guardians?” Bofur asked.

He doesn’t know what to think when his answer is the sound of a boot hitting tile loud enough to echo hollowly around the kitchen.

_“What do you **know**?”_

And Bofur answered.


	11. Rainstorm

A cold wind brought the smell of rain to Bilbo as he sat on the front steps of the school, eyes firmly fixed on the permission slip for a field trip in his hands.

Mr. Ironwood had handed them out and Thaddeus had practically shoved it into his hands before passing the stack to Dwight.

Bilbo didn't know what to think of Thaddeus and Dwight. The bulk of their acquaintanceship, they (mainly Thaddeus, but standing to the side and being a 'yes man' was just as damaging) were his tormenters.

They had helped make school just another hell, another painful place to be. The Trolls had been removed from the school (Bilbo suspected expulsion, as he was positive his guardians didn't press charges, so he had  _that_ to look forward to if he ever went someplace alone, which he never did.

Edwin would never allow it.

Which brought him back to the present and he looked up from the permission slip in his hands as he folded it to search for the car.

But the parking lot was empty except for staff cars and he frowned a bit.

He wasn't part of any clubs, so that couldn't be the reason Edwin wasn't there. There were no talks with teachers, or his councilor, Mr. Gandalf (he liked to pretend his elder brother wasn't the principle of the high school and insisted that everyone call him "Mr. Gandalf" and didn't answer if called anything else). There was...

The realization made Bilbo shiver from more than just the cold and the permission slip fell from numb fingers.

The only reason Edwin would not be here was if he had been kept from it.

Bilbo immediately hunched over and shoved his hands in his armpits, thankful that Bofur and Bombur had already left. He would have to go deposit his bag in his locker before he began to think about heading up to the manor. He shivered and slowly stood up, heading back inside.

He would need to hurry up if he wanted to get back before dark.

And it didn’t help that it looked it was about to rain.

*~*~*

Thorin glared out at the rain as his father drove up towards Moria and the Oakley Manor.

He had been kept after to speak with his councilor, Mr. Gandalf (the man was irritating beyond all reasoning and often smiled as if he knew everything) when he noticed a small form walking up the street.

A small form that looked very familiar to Thorin. “Father, stop please,” Thorin exclaimed and his father glanced up at him in the review mirror before he did so.

Thorin didn’t pause. Thorin threw off his seatbelt, grabbed his umbrella, and rushed out the back door. “William!” he called and the form stuttered to a stop in the freezing rain as Thorin opened up his umbrella as he swung it up, though he was already partially soaked due to his haste in trying to reach William Bagshawe.

“Thaddeus,” William chattered out, and Thorin didn’t hesitate to insure that William was under the umbrella.

However, while Thorin’s breath came out in clouds of silver-gray, Bilbo’s seemed to be a barely there cloud. “Where’s your ride?” Thorin questioned softly, noticing how his father had turned the car around so he was on their side of the street.

He probably broke at least one street law in doing so, but Thorin couldn’t bring himself to worry over it now.

William was still shivering and shaking and all he seemed to be able to do was shrug at Thorin’s question. “Can we give you a lift?” he asked gently and William looked ready to protest, when Theodore Oakley’s presence comes up behind William.

Thorin couldn’t miss how William seemed to try and shrink in on himself when he senses the presence. He is slow to turn around, hesitant in a way that Thorin recognizes, unfortunately, and Thorin watches the way William reacts. Sees the way his father’s grip tightens briefly on his umbrella and the way William’s head ducks slightly, as if in an aborted greeting.

“Mr. Oakley, how wonderful to see you again,” William chatters out and Thorin feels eyebrows scrunch together at the greeting, even as his father gave a small nod in return, as if William was his equal, not the child of one of his business partners.

“I wish I could say the same, but truly, were you not just in the hospital? Whatever are you doing walking around in the rain?” he asks, and Thorin is scrambling to figure out how they know each other.

“Quite right. And my ride never showed up and I didn’t have the money for a cab,” William answers and Theodore nodded before he opened up the back door.

“Your parents, God rest their souls, would never forgive me if I left you to walk along the street,” Theodore stated and Thorin can only watch as William just gets in.

Thorin follows quickly after and spends the rest of the car ride in the very, very warm car staring at William, who shivers as if he’s about to come flying apart at the seams.

*~*~*

Bilbo shuddered, even though he was wearing thick wool socks and too big, and borrowed, sweat pants with matching sweatshirt (Fredrick “Frerin” Oakley’s college sweats, specifically), feeling far too achy to be good news.

Diana (or Dis as she preferred to be called) had let him borrow her hair dryer to use on things he would rather not wait to dry (his hair chief among them) and now, he was hovering at the bathroom door, dry but still chilled to the bone, trying to gather the courage to leave.

He can smell dinner from here and he shakes more, though he’s not certain if it is the chill that has him doing so now.

He sneezes violently and uses some toilet paper to clean is nose when someone pounds on the door, sending him stumbling away from it, curling up on the ground between the toilet and the bathtub. “William, dinner time! Mom says you have to eat with us!” a voice, unknown to him, shouted.

“Kili, you can’t shout at guests! Mom said we had to behave or we’d get no dessert!” a second voice stated.

“I’m not bein’ rude Fili! He might be nappin’! Dad said he looked ill,” Kili exclaimed.

“Kili, don’t say things like that! He can hear us!”

“Then you shut up too Fili!”

This was followed by a childish shout of rage and Bilbo was on his feet, stumbling to the door.

Whatever was going on out there?

He wrenched open the door and found himself staring at two boys, obviously the same age, though one had dark hair while the other had blond hair, who were obviously brothers.

Bilbo clung to the door as he watched them tussle until he managed to find his voice.

“Dinner?”

Immediately both boys stilled and looked up at him.

It was the last time they did so, for upon standing, even if they seemed to _try_ to look up at him, they were _both_ taller than Bilbo.

If it weren’t for the fact that they were complete strangers to Bilbo, he would suspect them of being at the high school. “William Bagshawe,” Bilbo introduced.

The boys grinned and both hugged him suddenly, though gently.

The action still caused him to tense, however.

“Fili…”

“And Kili…”

“And we’re pleased to meet you too Boggins!”

Bilbo wondered what it said about him that it was the ridiculous nickname the boys stereoed at him was what managed to loosen his muscles enough to hug them back.

That seemed to make them happy though and then they were dragging him off to dinner.

(Bilbo didn’t mind for a second, even though it caused the pain to race up his nerves and make him shiver.)


	12. The Oakley Family

Fili and Kili encourage Bilbo to sit between them so he was sitting across from Thaddeus while Mr. Oakley as the head of the table and Mrs. Oakley at the foot, her graying blonde hair still up in that braided bun style she had always seemed to prefer when she used to visit his mother. "Bilbo, it is so good to see you again, and for once not at one of those dreadful company parties," Mrs. Oakley greeted and Bilbo ducked his head shyly with a smile.

"You as well Mrs. Oakley. I'm afraid high school has kept me from those said parties recently," Bilbo answered softly as he took the salad bowl from Fili, who nearly shoved it into his lap in an effort to keep it off his plate.

Bilbo kept from rolling his eyes, barely, at the blond and focused on putting the salad on his plate before passing it to Kili, who practically shoved it at his mother who admonished him quietly before she smiled at Bilbo. "I'm glad you're taking your studies seriously. When you were little, you used to try to shove your homework in the washing machine," she stated with a smile while Bilbo blushed in embarassment before he began to passed the platter of ham down to Kili, FIli having practically loaded his plate with it, ignoring how Mrs. Oakley frowned slightly.

He also barely caught the cheesy potatoes in their bowl before he passed it on, not bothering to scold Kili, though Mr. Oakley did.

"Stop shoving food at our guest Kelsey," Mr. Oakley stated and Kili frowned at his full name while Fredrick snorted from across from Kili.

"You shouldn't tease your brother for his name," Bilbo stated softly as he passed another platter of some sort of meat thing down to Kili, ignoring how now even Mr. Oakley was frowning at him now.

"I'm a big brother. I get to tease my baby brothers all I want," Fredrick retorted and Bilbo looked down at his plate, carefully rolling up the sleeve, again, wincing when he felt the sleeve catch on one the rope burn that wasn't healing well.

It kept catching open and he tried to tug the sleeve off of the injury before he gave up. "Something the matter Bilbo?" Mrs. Oakley asked and he looked up.

"Just...loose," Bilbo answered softly and carefully took the carrier for the salad dressing that Kili passed him, pouring the one marked as 'ranch' over the salad and passed it down.

He began to smooth the dressing over the leaves and mostly settled in to listen as the chatter of family life filled the air around him.

He didn't participate in any conversation.

Neither did Thaddeus.

*~*~*

Bilbo called Edwin from the bathroom and got him. Edwin sounded relieved, and terrified that he was hearing from Bilbo.

“ _Ask if you can stay there,”_ Edwin stated.

“I haven’t got any clothes! And I really don’t want to wear anything two middle schoolers would wear,” Bilbo answered softly, thankful that his phone hadn’t gotten damaged in the downpour.

 _“Bilbo, stay there! The minute you step into this house, you won’t be going to school for the rest of the week. I’ll bring you clothes tomorrow to change into, during my rounds, just don’t come here!”_ Edwin stated and Bilbo clutched at the sweatshirt.

“Edwin…” he hissed out.

 _“They’re furious that you aren’t here. I don’t care how you do it, but keep out of the house! Do not come here!”_ Edwin stated and Bilbo gave a sigh.

“I’ll ask. I don’t know if they’ll say yes, but I’ll ask. And…I’ll think of something if they say no,” Bilbo answered, sliding down to sit on the tiled floor.

 _“Nothing dangerous, please,”_ Edwin stated.

“Nothing dangerous,” Bilbo responded.

 _“Be safe,”_ Edwin hissed out and then there was the sound of a phone being hung up.

Bilbo disconnected the call and closed his eyes a bit, letting out a long sigh before he carefully stood up, adjusted the borrowed clothes to fit better, wincing as bruises and welts were caught. “The weekend is going to be bad,” he whispered softly before he washed his hands reflexively and headed back out, cell phone in hand before he slipped it into one of the pockets, heading down to where Mr. and Mrs. Oakley were sitting with their children.

Five was a considerable amount and he highly respected Mrs. Oakley for having all of them.

“Did you reach your guardians dear?” Mrs. Oakley asked when he fully stepped in.

“Yes. They forgot there was this late night party, and so did I for that matter. I was wondering if I could spend the night, if it wasn’t too much trouble. If not I can call a cab,” he responded.

“Shouldn’t you call Edwin?” Mr. Oakley asked and Bilbo shook his head.

“He’s with them,” Bilbo responded softly.

The Oakleys shared a glance while Thaddeus seemed to be staring at him, making Bilbo wish he had just asked for his clothes and called a cab while outside. Even Fredrick and Diana have looked over, though Fili and Kili seemed content to sit with their homework.

Well, Fili does.

Kili looks frustrated.

“We would be happy to have you stay the night. You can borrow some of Fili’s clothes, as he’s closer to you in height tomorrow,” Mrs. Oakley stated and Bilbo flushed, looking away in embarrassment.

“There is no need, Mrs. Oakley, truly. I can wear today’s clothes tomorrow,” he protested softly, but she shook her head.

“Nonsense. You need to wear clean clothes,” she responded and Bilbo gave a small nod.

He dodged without a thought as the pencil went flying and Mrs. Oakley exclaimed, “Kelsey Oakley!”

“I don’t get it! This is stupid!” Kili snapped and Bilbo quietly retrieved the pencil as Mr. and Mrs. Oakley scolded Kili on throwing his pencil.

“I’m sorry Bilbo,” Kili mumbled as he took his pencil back.

“Quite all right Kili. Come on, let me show you something,” Bilbo answered, borrowing a pencil from the cup on the coffee table before he settled down next to Kili’s homework.

“Now, there’s Train A,” Bilbo began, and Kili huffed but listened.

By the end of explanation, Kili was zipping off through the homework and Bilbo smiled. Feeling exhausted, however, he pat Kili’s shoulder absent-mindedly and slowly stood, turning to ask when he found Thaddeus standing there.

“If you have no objections, you may camp out on the sofa in my room,” Thaddeus stated.

Bilbo shook his head and Thaddeus led the way.

*~*~*

Thorin thought Bilbo looked odd, in the jeans and white ribbed turtleneck with some black band t-shirt over it that Fili had eagerly shoved at Bilbo that morning.

Heck, even the boots were “borrowed” from Fili, the middle schooler having outgrown them but refused to give them up, hiding them whenever their mother went through their rooms.

They were too big for Bilbo, just slightly, but thick socks fixed that and, while Bilbo looked odd, it was only partially because Thorin was used to him being dressed like a little mini-businessman, or some sort of model in a teen magazine.

No, Thorin thought Bilbo looked odd, in jeans and a t-shirt over a long sleeved shirt, because in clothes that most teenagers wore, he looked both so very young and so very _old_.

It also put into sharp relief how he also looked so very _tired._


	13. Hiding (It Got Worse)

"Bilbo!" Bofur greeted cheerfully, almost careful as he pulls Bilbo in for a hug as he walked in next to Thorin.

Bilbo can't help the tense, surprise forcing a soft exclamation from him, and he carefully, hesitantly, hugged back, confused when Bofur practically bent double to hide his face against Bilbo's hair. "Bofur?" Bilbo questioned, but then Bofur was letting him go, leaving him reeling with a faint throb of pain echoing across all his nerve endings and Bofur was dragging him off, talking at about one hundred words a minute with Thorin throwing in a few here and there and suddenly Bilbo found himself within Thorin's Company.

Giles, or Gloin as he preferred to be called, was boisterous and a bit too attracted to fire, in Bilbo's opinion, but he also spent half his time chasing after his girlfriend, who seemed to be equally amused and irritated with him.

Bilbo’s hands shook, but he didn't fully mind, and Dwight wouldn't look at him, or even near him, not even to talk to Bofur, who kept one loose arm over Bilbo's shoulders, causing minimal pain, mostly because Bilbo was so tense that he was tugging at all his injuries.

He was feeling crowded as they barely let him go long enough to get his things and he was silently grateful he had finished today's homework already and then he was being tugged off by Bombur, of all people.

However, even as he trembles in fear and pain, slowly becoming more and more overwhelmed, he can't help but give a shaky smile and wonder if this is what it is like to have friends, even if two of them tormented you for most of the first quarter, the end of which was rapidly approaching.

(And Bilbo ignored that he was fifteen now, because it helped him to pretend that he had something to look forward to.)

*~*~*

That afternoon, shortly before lunch, he was called up to the front office, where Edwin held a backpack. Bilbo thanked him and apologized for forgetting it and Edwin just nodded before leaving.

Bilbo darted to a bathroom, locked himself in a stall, and quickly shuffled things and then placed his school things over the clothes, hiding them from sight. He then took a deep breath and silently braced himself before he swung his backpack on.

He stumbled forward, the pain near blinding, and barely managed to brace himself against the wall, shuddering as he tried to adjust to the agonizing throb that took over his senses.

Once he had calmed and pulled himself under control, he walked back to his locker, locked up the flat over the shoulder bag and quickly returned to class, just in time to be dismissed.

For the first time during the entire school year, when he headed to lunch, Thorin and Dwight (or "Dwalin" as he insisted) invited him to join them and Bofur encouraged it.

Bilbo joined them after only the smallest of hesitations.

*~*~*

"Where's Edwin?" Mr. Oakley asked as Bilbo followed Thorin out, standing under the older teen's umbrella as the rain pounded down.

Bofur hovered at his shoulder, somehow, with Bombur, neither seeming to want to cross over to where their mother waited in the patchwork car.

"He's picking me up later. I still need to do some homework and the library here has the books I need," Bilbo answered and let out another soft, surprised, exclamation when Bofur, and then Bombur, hugged him quickly.

Bilbo blinked after them and then smiled weakly at them, waving before he turned back to Mr. Oakly. "It was good to see you Mr. Oakly. See you tomorrow Thorin. I'm afraid I won't be able to get Fili's clothes washed until Sunday," Bilbo answered.

"Don't worry about it," Mr. Oakley stated and Bilbo gave a nervous smile and head duck before he quickly retreated back into the high school.

Once in, he rushed to the backdoor and was out the back gate, already heading up the backstreets to the Minas Tirith Public Library bus stop, paying the two dollar fee before he clung to the pole, staring straight ahead.

(There is a spot, in the back of the library, that doesn't get checked. It is one of those places where artistic renovation created a covered nook by accident. Bilbo takes full advantage of it by slipping through the cameras' blind spots and curling up tight, burying his head into the backpack.)

*~*~*

The next day, he returns the clothes, but asks Thorin if Fili will mind him borrowing the boots for a little while longer, as the wet weather has made a mess of all his other things.

Thorin says he is sure Fili wouldn’t mind and Bilbo asks Thorin to thank Fili for him.

It is at lunch that he asks Bofur if it is all right if he spends Thursday night, tomorrow night, with him and his family, so they can hammer out the rest of the project before the end of the quarter, but only if it is all right.

Bofur agrees before ever having to call his mother and ignores the startled looks from Thorin and Dwalin.

Bilbo just thanks him and startles at the sudden hug before he relaxes into it.

(He is given an air mattress that has duct tape along most of it, but he passes out to the sound of Bombur's violent snores and Bofur's soft snuffling. When his forehead creases from nightmares in the night, Bifur only eyes him long enough to make sure he'll remain asleep, but does not touch, as any near touch makes the forehead creasing worse.)

The breakfast the next morning is small, but Bilbo thanks Mrs. Hastings profusely for it, apologizing all the while until she tells him to forget about it.

(Twenty dollars mysteriously end up in the bowl by the front door, Bilbo the second to last one out as Bifur ushers them all to the patchwork car to get them to school while on his way to work.)

*~*~*

Friday, the rain is pounding as hard as it had on Monday.

At the end of Friday, when every other student giggles excitedly, Bilbo stuffs his backpack in his locker somehow, gets the school things back in the over the shoulder bag, and locks it up tight to stride to the front.

On Friday after school, Bilbo stares at where Lobelia waits for him, fury in her eyes.

He gets into the back without question and only the quickest of good-byes to his friends.

He does not promise to see them on Monday, because he won't make promises he knows he can't keep.

*~*~*

Bilbo's forced into an ice bath the moment he is shoved inside and he's only allowed to fully dry off to keep from, leaving water everywhere, though the fact they give him such a consideration terrifies him.

He is shivering and chattering, as he is hauled into the garage and chained with freezing cold chains to freezing cold skin just below his rope burns and the numbness that has overtaken his body helps to keep him from screaming in agony as Othello takes what is possibly a new belt to his skin.

The entire time Othello snarls out venom while Bilbo shivers and shudders.

When Othello is done, he proves he's not fully done by dragging Bilbo to a closet they must have prepared for him near the garage and throws him into it, telling him that if any guest hears him on Saturday, he'll be in far more trouble than before.

He's left, locked in the closet with his back and sides and thighs burning and bleeding sluggishly with only a few towels he knows he'll be punished for using but uses anyway, till Monday morning.

(Edwin's attempts to get in make Bilbo shiver and shudder worse, though if from pointless hope or fear he can't tell anymore.)

Being left alone without proper treatment has left him coughing and sneezing into the towels, praying he doesn't get heard along with causing heat to settle into some of the deeper cuts.

(He's right about the punishment, but he's burning with a fever that it doesn't fully register.)

He is finally allowed to return to school on Thursday, even if he's not fully healthy.

(Bilbo has never been more relieved in his entire life.)


	14. Guarantees

"You look like death warmed over," Bofur stated the moment he saw Bilbo that morning.

Bilbo didn't even respond to that, just kept leaning against the wall with his forehead. He couldn't even bring himself to move. "Bilbo, I think we should get you to the nurse's office," Bombur stated and Bilbo let out a low hiss of pain as one of Bombur's hands touched one of his welts on his upper back.

He felt the pressure, feather light really, Bilbo wasn't sure if he could call it pressure, lift and he glanced over. "I'm fine. Can we just...not move? Or talk?" he requested quietly and shifted his forehead, slowly, until it was on a cool part of the wall once more.

"Bilbo, I'm being serious. Maybe we should get you to the nurse's office. I may joke about how you look, but really...you've gotten paler since we've started talking," Bofur stated and Bilbo let out a low sigh, mentally counting to keep his temper.

Not that it was particularly difficult to keep his temper, but sometimes it slipped and he lashed out or was sarcastic and, usually, regretted it instantly.

He couldn't stop the whine of pain as someone clapped him on the shoulder though and he turned to glare at whoever had done it, only to find himself glaring at Gloin. "Don't do that," he hissed lowly, feeling bandages pulling uncomfortably under his clothes and already dreading pulling his bag on.

His nerve endings were on fire and his stumbling back as a wave of dizziness didn't help matters.

Especially due to the fact he had stumbled back into the wall, his back practically _slamming_ into it.

"Right, that's it, I'm taking you to the nurse's office," Bofur stated and grabbed Bilbo's arm.

"Bofur, no, I'm _fine_ ," Bilbo protested, even as he was practically dragged down the hallway, Bombur following with Bilbo's bag.

Behind them, Gloin frowned at the wall, then at their backs before he leaned in closer to the wall. His forehead furrowed more and he leaned back, shaking his head a bit before he followed after the group.

(After school that day, the janitor would wonder what had created the odd dark, thin, smear across the wall.)

*~*~*

Elliot Perrault was rarely there on Thursdays, but when Edith called him and requested his presence at Erebor High School, in regards to William Bagshawe, he had rushed there.

His wife and spoken only in concern and worry for the boy, since finding signs of child abuse, but without pictures, she was scared to send child services down on his head.

She was worried that if she said anything without proof, she would just make it worse on him. “It was horrible Elliot, all those scars. They…I’m terrified what they’ll do to him when they don’t _have_ to hide anything,” she had told him, eyes wide and terrified.

And when he got to the nurse’s office, he followed Edith to the bed with the curtain around it. They didn’t have separate rooms for male and female students, instead having curtains and the beds watched at all times from the desk by the receptionist, because the high school only had one full-time nurse, yet could…

Elliot took a deep breath, even as he looked at Edith, ready to listen.

“He’s burning with a fever. I think it has climbed but…that’s not all,” Edith explained and carefully pulled back the curtain.

At first, Elliot was confused about what was wrong.

William was just lying on his stomach and seemed to be sleeping. And then he saw the darker stains on the black jacket and Elliot frowned. He knelt down and, carefully, caught Mr. Bagshawe’s clumsy swing before settling his fist back on the cot.

He then reached out and touched one of the spots, earning a tiny whimper of pain before pulling back his fingers.

Fingers that came back red.

*~*~*

Elliot Perrault is at an impasse.

He doesn’t have enough _proof_ of child abuse to bring this to the police, to the courts, to _anyone_. He has a bloody back and limited ability to do anything, because he can’t just yank William’s shirt off and he knows any suspicions he brings up will get back to William’s guardians and…

And he doesn’t really want to think of how things could get _worse_ for the boy sleeping behind the curtain.

Because he knew it could always get worse.

School policy is to bring the kids in and either send them back to class or send them home.

Elliot feels no guilt as he overrides school policy and lets William stay there till the end of school, when he wakes him.

When he watches Edwin Jeffries pick up William Bagshawe, he is left without doubts that the man knows about William’s home life.

And he begins to plot questions to ask and how to get William to his wife.

(He has too many hoops to jump through and too many places this can twist back to hurt William.)

(His wife is not so limited by red tape.)


	15. A Lack of Surety

If Elliot Perrault was not required to by his job, he would never have brought up his suspicions to Principal Saruman Mailand.

As it was, he did his best to make it sound like he was just overly worried. "You have no proof?" Saruman questioned.

"None. It is probably just me. Or it could be the bullying situation we have in this school," Elliot stated.

"What bullying situation? I have not heard of anything about any bullying," the white haired man responded and one of the councilors, placed there by the district against Principal Mailand's wishes, snorted.

"No, I have to concur with Nurse Perrault. Mr. Bagshawe is a withdrawn, quiet, boy and nothing like the six year old I remember. That boy was adventurous and almost carefree! He even made friends easily! Now, he is like an island unto himself, withdrawn, and very much hurting. The friends he's made are ones that have reached out to him, and he clings to them, as if they are the only good thing left in his life! He doesn't even look to the future," the councilor argued and Saruman gave a snort, cutting him off with a sharp, "No fourteen year old knows what they want to do, Gandalf."

"No, they change their minds! But at fourteen, they generally do know. Bilbo, doesn't. He says something, but his heart isn't in it. Like he doesn't think he'll ever see that side of his life. As if what he is saying he knows to be an unattainable dream. And  _that_ is worrying for a child who believed that nothing was impossible," Gandalf responded.

Saruman sighed and looked ready to argue again, when Elliot interrupted. "I have made my report, Principal Mailand. And I have turned it in. If there is nothing else, I would like to get home to my wife and children," he stated and Saruman nodded.

"Thank you Nurse Perrault, but I am sure it is nothing. I shall, however, keep my eye out for any actual evidence," Principal Mailand stated and Elliot left to Gandalf bringing his arguments back up, Saruman quietly, and calmly, dismissing them.

When the principal's office's door shut, it cut them off and Elliot sighed before he walked out to his car.

His day was rather stressful and it did not help in the slightest that, when he got to his car, Mr. Edwin Jeffries was leaning on it.

"Mr. Jeffries," Elliot greeted.

"If there was hard evidence of years of child abuse, could you guarantee William Bagshawe's safety?" Edwin questioned and Elliot felt as if the breath had been punched out of him.

"No, I can't," he admitted and Edwin Jeffries tensed.

"And no one can, not anymore. Not until after his guardians are proved to be beyond hope of rehabilitation and if there is a permanent home waiting for him on the other side of this battle," Elliot continued.

Edwin sighed and stood up normally. "No, of course not," Edwin whispered and began to head back to the car.

"Do you?" Elliot called.

"Do I what?" Edwin responded and Elliot gave a nod.

"Never mind," he answered and got into his car.

He then backed out and of his parking space, driving for home.

He hated the red tape, and his wife only had slightly less. And hopefully, hopefully, she would be able to get enough for long term child abuse that would put William Bagshawe's guardians away, not into rehab.

And he hoped it wasn't a fool's hope that he carried.

*~*~*

Bilbo buried his face into Edwin’s pillow as he coughed hard enough to make it feel like his back was splitting wide open.

He was panting when he lifted his face away from the pillow and he looked up tiredly as Edwin slipped in. “Hey Bilbo. I got some soup,” Edwin greeted softly as he gently reached out for Bilbo’s forehead.

He couldn’t stop his flinch and Edwin murmured nonsense soothing words until Bilbo relaxed again. Only then did Edwin press cold fingers against Bilbo’s forehead and he couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that escaped him.

“You’re burning up,” Edwin murmured softly before he, slowly, ran his fingers through Bilbo’s hair.

Bilbo twitched at that, but didn’t flinch away, though the twitch was enough to get Edwin to remove his hand.

“Let’s get you sitting up. I want at least a quarter of this in your stomach, if at all possible,” Edwin urged gently and Bilbo obeyed, slowly, trembling slightly as Edwin poured some of the chicken soup into a mug.

“After this, I’m going to take a look at your back, all right?” Edwin stated and Bilbo nodded tiredly as he sipped at the soup, feeling muggy and stuffed.

He put the mug down on the nightstand and covered his face with a pillow as he began to cough again, desperately.

He gasped for air as he shoved the pillow away and shoved his hands over his mouth instead as he continued to cough, his lungs burning and begging for air.

When his mind cleared from the haze of agony that came from his back and throat, he was curled over on the bed and Edwin was close, but not touching, talking to him in low tones.

“I…I think something’s wrong,” Bilbo croaked out.

“I think so too. Let’s get your shirt off so I can look at your back a bit better, okay?” Edwin answered and Bilbo slowly obeyed.

He twitched when Edwin gently touched his shoulder and again when Edwin cursed. “We need to clean these out again,” Edwin stated and Bilbo flinched at the thought of having to sit in the shower while Edwin washed out his wounds.

He trembled even as Edwin got him to his feet and…

He pulled himself into his mind, pulling away from the distant feel of warm water washing over his back, the slight sting of the soap. He kept himself far away, so he didn’t have to think about ice cold water that tasted like metal filling his mouth or ice cold water striking his skin, or blood joining the water when Othello slammed his head into a wall.

He shivered a bit as he felt a towel carefully drying him off before he slowly was lead back.

He blinked rapidly until he realized he was lying on his stomach, back and sides stinging from the anti-bacterial salve Edwin was using.

“Bilbo?” Edwin called and Bilbo hummed to show that he heard him.

“Good. You’ll keep here for a few days, all right. At least until the fever is gone and you’ve healed up a bit. I’ll call the school tomorrow. You just rest up, and I promise, everything’s going to be as okay as I can make it,” Edwin swore softly and Bilbo just hummed a bit, but he didn’t think too much on the promise.

He didn’t want hope to grow in his heart anymore.

Not when Lobelia was so adept at ripping out by the roots and leaving gouging scars in its place.

It was with that troubling thought that Bilbo slipped into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID NOT MAKE UP THE THING ELROND/ELLIOT BROUGHT UP!
> 
> In America, which is a crap country and I live in it so I can say that, _they don't remove the child until it is a last resort_.
> 
> Even in a case like Bilbo's which is horrible and horrendous because America, in general wants to "preserve the family" and "the abusers can be rehabilitated".
> 
> (No, they fucking can't.)
> 
> This why there are so many runaways from abusive homes.
> 
> It is the _only_ way they can get free from their abusers unless it gets so bad to the point where they _can't_ run and they get found.
> 
> To my knowledge, only America is so concerned about "preserving the family" to the point that they will refuse to remove a child from such an unhealthy environment.
> 
> Even in someone in Bilbo's case, _especially_ if they realized that the "gig" was up.
> 
> Lobelia is smart enough to make it seem like they are alcoholics. They would just go through rehabilitation, and _then_ get Bilbo _back_.
> 
> Elrond/Elliot _doesn't want that to be an option_ , because he knows if they get Bilbo back, it will be worse for Bilbo.


	16. Invitation and French

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skip some time in this.

Healing and recovering had been long and hard for Bilbo.

It got so bad he nearly had to return to the hospital and he feared, briefly, that it would only result in him having to spend more time trapped in this glorified prison as they punished him for something he could not control.

As it was, he was sure the only reason they had left him alone at all was because he was in a place they would not go to unless they had no choice. The servant’s wing, though it was really only occupied by Edwin, was not a place they would enter willingly, and that was what kept Bilbo sleeping soundly, when he could sleep.

When he emerged, he had not been surprised by the backhand Lobelia had delivered to his cheek, her diamond ring leaving a deep cut just below his cheekbone.

No, he had expected it.

He had not expected her to do so again, leaving a second cut that ran perpendicular through the first.

“Don’t get blood on the shirt or you’ll find what got you sick will be a mercy, do you understand?”

“Yes Aunt Lobelia,” Bilbo recited, not surprised when she smacked his mouth and told him not to take that tone with her.

He was just thankful that Thanksgiving Vacation was approaching, which meant that his “guardians” would go off, leaving him with Edwin and he could heal in peace.

*~*~*

“Do you want to come over next Friday?”

Bilbo’s head snapped over to Thorin at the question, fingers clenching subconsciously on his book. “What?” he asked and didn’t even twitch when Dwalin gently cuffed Thorin upside the head.

They were all sprawled across the grass on the school’s lawn, waiting for guardians and drivers to pick them up, the early release that Friday throwing everyone’s schedules into disarray.

Gloin was with his girlfriend, the pair being oddly lovey-dovey with each other while the rest worked on homework or, in Bilbo’s case, read quietly while his lap was used by Bofur as a pillow (a situation that Bilbo was _still_ confused about).

Thorin, who was looming over Bilbo, huffed and then nudged Bofur with the toe of his boot. Bofur grumbled and turned over, wrapping his arm around Bilbo’s legs, which earned the behatted teen a squeak from Bilbo (though he wasn’t awake to enjoy it).

Thorin rolled his eyes and then flopped onto the ground on Bilbo’s other side.

Bilbo let out another squeak as Thorin’s head came to rest on Bilbo’s free knee and he was suddenly very thankful he had chosen to sit on the ground near Bombur.

Bombur would keep people (though only Dwalin came to mind) from using his back as a rest.

Which Bilbo was quite thankful for, in fact, as his back was still sore. “Why am I being turned into a pillow?” Bilbo asked.

“You are comfy,” Bofur grumbled, cuddling closer before he settled back into his doze.

“Party. Next Friday. Indoor camping party,” Thorin explained.

“Indoor camping party?” Bilbo questioned.

“Yes,” Thorin responded with patience that Bilbo was pretty sure he didn’t have.

And Bilbo was also pretty sure he was treading on thin ice when he hid his smile behind his book and asked, “Is that ‘boy speak’ for a sleepover party?”

The teasing tone was surprising to him (just like being used as a pillow), but nice as well, and he bit his lower lip at Thorin’s scowl.

“Indoor camping party,” Thorin reiterated.

“You sound like a three year old when you say it like that,” Bilbo pointed out.

Thorin gently thumped his head against Bilbo’s knee. “Yes or no?” Thorin asked.

“I’ll come to the “indoor camping party”, which sounds quite a bit odder then slumber party, but whatever you wish to call it,” Bilbo answered and focused on his book once more.

“What are you reading?”

“ _War and Peace_ ,” Bilbo deadpanned.

He felt Thorin’s head lift off his knee. “Really?”

Bilbo let out a puff of air and shook his head. “No, not really. _The Three Musketeers_ by Alexandre Dumas,” Bilbo answered, twisting his hardback book around to show Thorin the title on the spine.

“It doesn’t say that,” Thorin stated.

“That’s what it says in English,” Bilbo explained and focused back on the words.

“You’re fluent in French?”

This was Dwalin, who was looming over his shoulder and Bilbo gave a one shouldered shrug. “Not…really. I read more then I speak,” Bilbo explained, flushing slightly under all the attention that was now being leveled at him.

Before they could ask further, there was the sound of horn being honked in a rapid fire way and the entire Company looked up to find that it was Othello’s car.

“I’ve got to go!” Bilbo exclaimed and immediately began to rush, “forgetting” his book on Bofur’s stomach before he was running full tilt to the car, apologizing and ignoring Bofur’s call to wait.

He would not risk the book his French teacher let him borrow, not even if it would mean he could leave his “guardians” forever.


	17. Tracks of Blood-stained Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *hands over tissues and quilts and pillows*
> 
> Fortify yourself my readers.

Bilbo moved slowly on the Friday morning after Thanksgiving, falling back into his stomach twice as he struggled to get up slowly enough that he didn't open the cuts across his back.

"Shouldn't have opened my mouth," he hissed out slowly as he worked on moving, slowly, out of his bed.

He had made a promise and he intended to keep it.

Standing up, he shook violently from head to toe. It took time he tried not to calculate before he was ready to, slowly, make his way to his bathroom.

An ache had settled across his entire being, sunk deeply into his very marrow, and he wondered how much of it was from his injuries and how much was just from being tired.

He let out a low sigh as he made it to his bathroom, making his way over to the shower and he opened the door with a low grunt before he reached in. It took a few moments of fumbling before he could turn the water to the warmest setting he could stand, along with the highest pressure he thought he could take this morning.

It took a while for his shower to come to life, whining and grumbling the entire time.

He took the time to shut the door so when the water began to fall from the showerhead it wouldn’t soak the tiled floor.

He laid towels on the ground after that and only then did he lean on his sink, staring at the mirror.

He didn’t really register anything in it, instead just…staring.

Staring at nothing and he let out a humorless laugh at that before he hung his head slightly before he shook it while the steam billowed out over the top of the shower.

With a deep, steadying, breath, Bilbo stripped himself out of his loose clothing and stepped quickly into the shower.

It stung slightly and he turned down the pressure before he wound a, clean, washcloth around so it made a gag.

Biting down on the terry cloth, only the did he lean into the warm water and bit down _harder_ as the stinging agony began to race up along his back.

He hunched over slightly as he shuddered in pain, muffling his cries of pain as he continued to work on letting the water clean off his back, managing to open his eyes enough to realize that the water was turning a faint red color.

He shuddered slightly and squeezed his eyes tightly again, trying to will this all away.

The continuous stinging in his back reminded him of how hopeless that was.

This time, as Bilbo braced himself against the wall of his shoulder as the water flowed over his back, his shoulders shook from more than pain.

*~*~*

Bilbo hesitated at the gate that led up to Thorin’s manor.

It was around ten a.m. and, while he could see cars, he wasn’t sure if they were related to the Company or if he should possibly hide out in the nearby park until the "indoor camping party" (Bilbo was starting to think Fili and Kili had named it) was scheduled to start when the intercom he was hovering next to buzzed.

 _"Bilbo, stop hovering, you are making the security guards jittery, especially because you have a bag over your shoulder,"_ Thorin greeted while Bilbo worked on getting his heart to stop beating so fast.

And wow, he felt really lightheaded.

That was probably not a good sign.

"Sorry. Um...which button do I push?" Bilbo asked and jumped, with a hiss of pain, when there was another buzz, followed by the door next to the gate clanking.

 _"Just get in here,"_ Thorin stated and Bilbo laughed nervously before he rushed to do just that, shutting the door securely behind him.

"Sorry," he repeated when Thorin met him halfway to the manor.

"It isn't a problem. Dad thought it hilarious that none of the security guards remembered you from last time," Thorin answered.

"Not  _that_ memorable," Bilbo mumbled.

"Yes you are, especially if you ask my little brothers. They adore you and were far more excited than Mom that you were coming back," Thorin answered and Bilbo let out a huff of laughter, adjusting his strap to ease off his back.

"Well, you invited me," he muttered slightly as they walked up the steps and to the front door.

"You didn't have to come. I'm actually surprised you did," Thorin answered and Bilbo blinked up at him while they hovered at the doorway.

"Why?" Bilbo asked, wondering if maybe he should have just stayed at his prison.

"Because I was cruel to you. Dad is always saying that I shouldn't do that, got into more trouble for that than anything else, even the party I threw when I was 15. And he was right. And I thought I had learned that lesson years ago, but I didn't, and you paid the price, and then you, somehow...you forgave me, and I still don't believe it," Thorin stated.

Bilbo gave a one shouldered shrug and scuffed the toe of his borrowed boots into the brick porch. "What you did doesn't even rate on the worst things to happen to me," Bilbo muttered and Thorin's head snapped down to him.

"What?" Thorin asked and Bilbo felt his eyes widen slightly, not thinking that Thorin could have heard him when the door opened.

"Thaddeus, it is four degrees above freezing. Get inside," Mrs. Oakley stated and Bilbo flushed a bit while Thorin groused about her exaggeration while Bilbo stepped in, thanking her as he did so.

(Bilbo did not notice the way Thorin’s eyes rested on him, as if he was a great mystery to solve, but soon they were both being pulled into the festivities at were, and Thorin was forced to leave his contemplation for another day.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....
> 
> From June 2nd to July 2nd all of my fics will be on hiatus so I can focus on my original work.
> 
> When I return on July 3rd, I will have some chapters ready to post, but seriously...original work.
> 
> Like, my own novels.
> 
> (I wanna get published, which means writing EVERYTHING I have in my had that is original works and throw as many darts as I can till I get published and then hopefully convince my publisher to publish everything. I am looking forward to this.)


	18. "Yes There Are"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Pete's Dragon_ is an old Disney movie that combines some animation with live-action.
> 
> If you've never seen it, the needed information is below so you can understand what gets referenced.
> 
> In _Pete's Dragon_ , an abused, orphaned, boy, Pete, has made friends with a green with pink hair, spikes, and wings dragon named Elliot who carries him away, and protects him from, the Gogans, his abusive family. (Pete has runaway before, and has run away again, and Elliot is merely helping Pete along.)
> 
> Elliot takes him to a fishing town where he meets the lighthouse caretaker, Lampy, and caretaker's daughter, Nora.
> 
> In it has awesome songs, like _Candle on the Water_ , _There's Room for Everyone_ , and many others, but those two are my personal favorites.
> 
> (Another song on there is called _The Happiest Home in These Hills_ basically describes how they are going to abuse Pete in between the lies that drip from their tongues.)
> 
> I do not own the movie.
> 
> (But anyone who has seen it, there is a reason it gets mentioned.)

Bilbo was thankful that no one asked where Edwin was, mostly because he knew that there was no lie they would believe.

There was a small part that was terrified that, if they asked, he would just spill the truth.

(And that same part that just wanted to tell them the truth was terrified that, one day, they would get it. It was even more terrified of what would happen after that.)

As the morning passed into afternoon, their friends stumbled in, greeting Thorin, then Bilbo, hugs and loud greetings.

Each hug burned across his back, and each loud greeting nearly makes him flinch, but Bilbo always hugged back. He also returned the greetings, though not to nearly the same deciable level as the rest.

When Bofur came with Bombur, his greeting was a smile and holding Bilbo's borrowed book out to him. "Ya fergot this," he stated.

Bofur was the only one he hugged first.

Bombur joined in a few moments later and soon they were stumbling out back with Thorin's tug. Apparently, part of the after-Thanksgiving festivities that Thorin’s family has set up for the dead for everyone includes getting, carefully, tackled by Fili and Kili, as well as the sudden appearance of the boy Bilbo had seen at the school.

His name was Ori, apparently, and he also joined in the clinging, but also took to patting Bilbo, gently, eyes watering.

He quickly found that the three wouldn’t leave him alone for anything short of going to the bathroom, all three gleefully clinging to Bilbo whenever they had the chance, and the rest took to teasing Bilbo about his height, as he was barely taller than Ori, and Fili and Kili were both taller than Ori by some inches, with Kili taller than Fili, despite being the eldest.

(Bilbo scowled at the teasing, even if said teasing allowed him to carry out the minor miracle he needed change the bandages before they bled through his shirt.)

*~*~*~*

Dinner is more like a bunch of snack foods in large qualities placed in the room dedicated for movies. Mrs. Oakley reminds them to keep it down and they promise to do so, even as they settle into their spots.

The prime spot is the one long couch and the rest must make do with the thick pillows that are everywhere.

Frerin and Dis join them around that time and “steal” (wrestle Thorin and Dwalin for them) two key spots on the couch, leaving only one spot between Nori and Dis.

In front of Nori on the floor, thus forcing Nori to curl up, is Bilbo.

Bilbo, who seems quite content to be sitting on the floor on a sea of pillows, Kili on one side, Fili on the other, and Ori situated against his chest. Bofur has no qualms about, somehow, getting Bilbo’s knee for a pillow, while Thorin gets the remaining spot. Bombur is settling down next to Dwalin and then Dis pipes up.

“Bilbo should pick first.”

Bilbo twitched at that and glanced over. “Um…no. I don’t even know what is here,” he answered softly and Kili twisted to bury his head against Bilbo’s shoulder.

“Meh. Dis gets what Dis wants. And she wants you to pick,” Kili stated and Ori nodded in agreement.

Fili was already standing, all gangly thirteen-year-old limbs and threatening growth spurt. He’s heavier set than Kili, something that honestly surprises Bilbo a bit, as Kili often wears clothes that make him look bigger.

“Can I pass?” Bilbo asked.

“Fine. Kili, you get first pick then,” Dis stated and Kili practically leaps out of his seat to do so.

*~*~*

Kili’s movie is a car action movie, Fili’s is the sequel. Ori picks _The Princess Bride_ and refuses to back down.

Nori threatens to kick the younger twins (and Dis _punches_ Frerin four times) if they tease Ori about it.

When it is over, they look to Bilbo. “Your turn,” Dis stated and Bilbo feels tired, a bit.

He is thinking of a movie he hasn’t seen since he was a child and hasn’t heard the music from since his mother sang him to sleep with one of the songs the night they died.

And before Bilbo can censor himself, he is asking, “Do you have _Pete’s Dragon_?”

*~*~*

“I want an Elliot,” Kili stated, even as Bilbo shook his head.

“No you don’t,” Ori stated, slumped further against Bilbo.

“Why not? An invisible dragon would be so _cool_!” Kili squealed out, leaning over Bilbo’s head, hand digging into his shoulder.

Bilbo twitched a bit at that, even as he worked on easing Kili off of him. “Elliot only comes to those in need, remember?” Bilbo questioned gently and Kili seemed to still at that.

“Oh…yeah,” Kili answered and he settled back against Bilbo’s side, rubbing the hand that had been digging into Bilbo’s shoulder idly on his pant leg.

Silence fell before Kili perked up. “Do you think there are any Elliots out there?”

Thorin moved to answer when Bilbo’s distant voice did instead.

“No.”

There was a jerk and they turned to look at Bilbo as one, almost, but Bilbo isn’t looking at them, but at the screen, the instrumental _“Candle on the Water”_ playing as background for the menu.

“Bilbo?” Ori questioned slightly as Bilbo continued to stare at the screen.

“There’s no Lampys or Noras either,” he added softly and Ori is frowning a bit, even as Bofur sat up, staring intently at Bilbo as silence, the tense bad kind, filled the air.

“Yes there are,” Bofur stated and Bilbo looked at Bofur.

His head shifted to the side and Bofur looks like he wants to reach out and haul Bilbo close and is barely restraining himself.

“There _are_ Elliots and Lampys and Noras out there Bilbo, I promise,” Bofur stated and Bilbo stares at him.

“No, there isn’t Bofur. There’s just the Gogans,” he stated and Nori is tensing, before Bilbo is carefully extracting himself.

“I have to go to the bathroom. Start the next movie without me, okay?” Bilbo stated and quickly left the dimly light room, despite all three of the youngest calling his name.

Bofur, however, doesn’t let him go and follows him with the intensity of a dog on a hunt.

The rest, however, are left in the dimly light room. “What…just happened?” Frerin asked while Dis frowned.

“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,” Ori quoted, and Nori just nodded in agreement.


	19. Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, tiny, chapter.
> 
> I'm sorry.

Bofur paused in the hallway with the nearest bathroom, sighing over the obvious fact he was not inside, though he did a quick check anyway.

Looking around, his eyes fell on the nearby closet and walked over to it. "Bilbo?" he called softly and there was muffled movement, followed by a shaky, "Go away Bofur."

"No," Bofur responded and settled on the wall next to the door.

There was muffled movement and he was surprised when the closet door opened to reveal coats and Bilbo shoved into a corner, half buried in a coat that came down long enough to wrap himself in without actually wrapping himself in it. It was an obvious invitation and Bofur moved into the closet. It took some maneuvering, but he managed to fit without dislodging anything too much. Once he was settled, Bilbo moved forward slightly and shut the door, leaving them in the dark.

"I don't want to talk about it," he stated.

"I'm not asking you to talk about it," Bofur responded and he heard Bilbo shift, before one of his socked feet pressed against Bofur's right socked foot.

There was more movement, and the foot flexed, but he did not move too much. "Are the Trolls bullying you again? If they are, you know you can just run straight to us, right? You're part of the Company now," Bofur answered softly and there was another flex.

Silence filled the air and, distantly, Bofur could hear the movie playing.

Explosions specifically.

“No. They aren’t. It is…just leave it,” Bilbo answered quietly and Bofur shook his head, even as he shifted his foot to, gently, pat the top of Bilbo’s foot with his own before he settled it back down next to Bilbo’s once more.

“No, I can’t, not now,” Bofur responded calmly and there was a huff of air.

“Why do you care?” Bilbo demanded.

“You’re my friend Bilbo. And that gives me all the reason to care,” Bofur answered and there was a sharp exhale, followed by a soft hitching of breath.

The silence was only broken by heaving breaths that trailed wetly into this throat, cracking slightly, and Bofur wondered if Bilbo was crying.

If a friend was so foreign to Bilbo he couldn’t even comprehend without tears.

That he was so relieved, maybe, that he started to sob.

It didn’t matter, however, because Bofur felt Bilbo shifting, slowly, and then Bilbo was there. Hesitant and slow, before he was suddenly pressing against Bofur’s chest, clutching to his shirt, head burying into his shoulder, and the tears were there.

All that mattered was that Bilbo was crying and Bofur was here. And while he couldn’t be the Elliot to Bilbo’s Pete, he could wrap Bilbo up in his arms, and legs, and cling to him.

Bilbo shook with each sob that forced its way out and Bofur reached up to gently bury his fingers into Bilbo’s hair, but the full-bodied flinch had Bofur removing his hand quickly and murmuring apologies.

And Bofur couldn’t help but wonder what they had done to him.


	20. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to get this chapter to slow down.
> 
> It refused.
> 
> I apologize for how quickly it is paced, especially if it seems off. I just could not rewrite it.

After Bilbo's break down in the closet, because that was all either could think to call it, Bofur helped Bilbo stand, the younger teen waivering on his feet, before he tugged him into the bathroom. From there, he helped Bilbo clean up, though he left Bilbo alone when he grabbed the First Aid kit from the bedroom Bilbo was crashing in with Bofur and Bombur.

Bofur would admit he didn't think he could handle obvious proof.

After that, they rejoined the group, but Bilbo pointedly looked at the screen the entire time, pretending he didn't hear any questions.

Four movies later, they got it and stopped asking Bilbo questions he would not answer, and, eventually, they all passed out in the den, Bilbo in the middle of the puppy pile that was the youngest three.

Breakfast the next morning was a hurried affair and, somehow, in the middle of it all, Bilbo left.

Bofur found the book tucked amongst his things when he got home, and wondered if keeping silent was _really_ the best option.

(He knew it was not.)

*~*~*

After the “indoor camping party”, Thorin and Company keep close to Bilbo. They note the days that Bilbo seems more tired than usual (Mondays are the usual, but occasionally during the week as well), and which days that he moves stiffly.

They put a barrier between Bilbo and the school, though not so severe as to cut him off from anyone who doesn’t seem to mean harm. They offer support where they can and come up with excuses to have Bilbo (and Edwin) over to their homes, more than able to let Bilbo bed down with them for a time.

As the days passed, Bilbo seemed to brighten with them, though they learned what had Bilbo tensing and what had him calmly leaning back into their embrace.

By the time Christmas Break came around and the Ironwood Christmas Party was being held, the school as whole just remembered Bilbo as a member of Thorin’s Company, for how well he fit in.

The teens were the first to agree that Bilbo seemed to have become the heart of the Company and held them together with his gentle mannerisms and willing ear. He listened to problems and helped as he could, even those who hesitated to approach, especially if Dwalin or Bofur were nearby.

No one approached if Thorin or Nori stood near Bilbo, and that was that.

When the Company (in the entirety) went to the Ironwood Christmas Party, Yavanna immediately absconded with Bilbo and they spent the entirety of the party talking in a corner about plants.

When Bilbo pushed his sleeves up on his arms, only Aule noticed the scars that peeked out from under the sleeve until the sleeves slipped back down to cover them.

Bilbo didn’t push them up so far again for the rest of the party.

*~*~*

"William, would you wait after class please?" Professor Ironwood asked and Bilbo looked up as he nodded, wondering if he looked as bad as he felt.

Winter Break had been less than ideal, to put it lightly, and Bilbo had spent most of it in agony, or being put into further agony, and his upper arms had gained shiny new burn scars.

Othello was quite thorough in reassuring that, while they would leave scars, they were not so painfully high that a doctor was needed.

Apparently it was in response to his “disrespectful actions” during Thanksgiving Break and that they had wanted to teach him to never do as such again.

Keeping him home, however, was near impossible, especially as two broken legs were hard to explain away.

The tracking device in his new phone was a bit more practical, however, and easy to explain away as a present.

“Yes Mr. Ironwood?” Bilbo questioned and Mr. Ironwood waved his hand to the stool in front of Ironwood’s cleared off desk and Bilbo settled on it.

He blinked in surprise when Mr. Ironwood laid out things to make a necklace. “Your last homework assignment was not up to par. I would like to give you a chance to redo it,” he stated and Bilbo hesitated.

He then smiled and nodded before he removed his jacket to put on top of his bag and began to go to work.

He twisted the wire around the beads before he used a tiny welder thing that he could never remember the name of to heat the metal wire into place, slowly making a collar peace of gold and green and blue, smiling as the flowers came into being, threaded with the wire.

He barely noticed as he worked that he kept rolling his sleeves up higher and higher until, when he placed the small welding thing to the side, Mr. Ironwood’s hand grasped his wrist and Bilbo jumped.

That did not stop Mr. Ironwood from drawing Bilbo’s arm forward, baring Bilbo’s rope burn and chain scars.

“Now these did not come from bullying, so I have to wonder where they did come from,” he stated and Bilbo swallowed.

“You lied?” Bilbo asked softly, eyes on the scars, wondering how Mr. Ironwood even knew to look for them.

“No. The homework project was sub-standard, and I felt like giving you a chance to redo it. I had my other reasons though for having you do it now,” Mr. Ironwood answered honestly and he carefully twisted Bilbo’s arm a bit more to look at the scarring, though he stopped when Bilbo hissed in pain.

“So…how did you get these?” Mr. Ironwood asked and Bilbo let his eyes dart around the scars, feeling his world crashing down around his ears.

He is only partially horrified when he begins to sob, knowing that this means everything is going to get so much _worse_.

Because Mr. Ironwood has no choice but to bring his concerns to the school, and from them to his guardians.

*~*~*

Aule Ironwood was a man who was as patient as the stone.

But he’s not expecting William to just start sobbing. While he didn’t release William’s arm, he did walk around his desk and carefully pulled William into a hug.

Half a school year with William had built up a lot of trust between them and it showed that, even though Aule had done something with alternate motives when William just collapsed against him, still sobbing.

But this time, he was also pleading.

“Don’t say anything, please don’t say anything, _please_.”

Aule wished he could promise that, but he couldn’t.

He carefully held William close and wondered who his Yavanna knew that could save William Bagshawe from his abusive relations.

But first, he had a teen to calm and a report to make.

 _Then_ Yavanna could unleash the full extent of her wrath upon William’s “guardians”.

(Aule barely had the patience to wait and see it.)


	21. Side-effects (Extreme Violence, Coma)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this chapter is going to get bad.

Bilbo knew Aule had talked the moment he stepped through the front door of his prision and Othello was waiting there for him.

The back hand is vicious and pain explodes across his face as he hits the ground, his head cracking on the hard tile and he can't stop the whimper. "What did I tell you about telling anyone brat?" Othello demanded and Bilbo just curled up, trying to protect his vulnderable torso, along with his head and neck.

He managed to protect his head and neck from further injury, though his head was swimming and he was pretty sure he was bleeding, but Othello had kicked him in the ribcage, flipping him onto his back and...

There was a lot of pain.

Othello was shouting at him and all Bilbo could do was scramble as best he could to avoid getting severe damage, but then he felt something give in his chest under another kick and he choked out a scream of pained terror. He struggled to get away, but another kick to his chest and he was rasping for air.

He hurt and his vision was blurring, and he thinks he screamed (but he's not sure), when fire raced up his leg.

And then pain raced up his arm, but he couldn’t tell which one on either account.

He wished for unconsciousness.

Finally, after many seemingly unending minutes of agony, blessed darkness claimed him.

*~*~*

“You do realize that if he’s _dead_ , we lose everything, right?” Lobelia demanded as they stood over William’s broken body in the entrance hall.

Otho had broken his left leg, and his right arm, not to the ribs Otho had, most likely, cracked with his _steel toed boots_. Then there was the fact that the boy was unconscious and, oh yes, bleeding from the head.

She ranted this all at her idiot husband. “He told!” he snarled.

“Oh, and _beating him_ was the answer? We should have shoved him under cold water and chained him under the air conditioner, but no! You had to be obvious about it! It is winter! We could have said he run away to escape the punishment for lying, but _now_ we’ve got to figure out something else!” Lobelia snarled.

“Won’t we inherit if he dies?” Otho asked and Lobelia gave her husband a pitying look.

She did love the idiot, but sometimes…

Well, sometimes he was just stupid.

“No, we won’t. We’re at the end of the inheirtence line! This was the best chance to get it, but _now_ …now we have to come up with…”

Lobelia was cut off by the wail of sirens.

“I didn’t call anybody!” Otho stated.

“I now you didn’t dear, but I know _someone_ who did. Find Edwin! I’ll take care of this!” Lobelia answered and Otho ran out while Lobelia rushed out the front door.

“Quick, quick, in here! Oh, my poor nephew, my poor baby!” she cried, only to find her being handled by the police.

“What is this?” she demanded as paramedics rushed inside.

“You are under arrest, Mrs. Sanford-Bagshawe, for suspected child abuse. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you,” the officer rattled off as he hauled her to the police car.

She snarled and struggled, fury racing through her limbs, especially as she watched William being wheeled, carefully, out of the house, and Otho being dragged by the police.

(The charges of resisting arrest and, in Otho’s case, assault of a police officer, would be added to their charges of child abuse.)

*~*~*

Bofur frowned as they sat in the auditorium.

An ‘emergency assembly’ had been called together, and he leaned back, wondering where Bilbo was this fine Wednesday.

And then Gandalf walks out onto the stage, instead of the principal, and Bofur sits up a bit. “Morning students and staff,” he greeted, sounding so sad and worn that it made Bofur’s heart clench.

“I would like to make a couple of announcements. The first being that our principal has been pulled from the school temporarily and will, hopefully, return by next year. If not, a new principal will be chosen. In the mean time, I will be acting principal and so an old friend of mine, Tauriel Wood, will be taking over my duties as councilor. Despite her rather…taciturn personality, she is as easy going as I…mostly,” Gandalf stated, earning some chuckles.

None came from him and Bofur felt the bile rise in his throat.

“Now, onto the second piece of news. I’m afraid one of our own will not be returning to the school for some time. William Bagshawe was admitted to the hospital late yesterday afternoon and slipped into a coma sometime yesterday evening,” Gandalf stated, but the rest was drowned out by the rushing sound in Bofur’s ears.

Someone was shaking his shoulder, but all Bofur could think about was that Bilbo’s guardians had finally outed themselves.

And in the process put his best friend on his death bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took me a while.
> 
> I'd blame the chapter, but in all honesty, I didn't want to write this and dragged my feet.
> 
> Because I knew that was going to happen.


	22. Hospital Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridge chapter, but after this it starts to go uphill so, YAY!!!

"I'm sorry, but only family is allowed in the recovery room," the nurse at the front desk stated and Bofur opened his mouth to argue before he felt his teeth click together as his mind drew a blank on the argument.

The nurse gave him a mirthless smile that had Bofur’s gut twisting, because she was the picture of refined professionalism. She was not a woman who would be swayed by pleading and it showed from the sharp bun to the way she smiled at him, as if he were a particularly precious, if dimwitted, child.

He _hated_ people looking at him like that.

"Can you at least tell me how he's doing?" Bofur asked, only to have the nurse shake her head at him.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not family,” she answered and Bofur felt his shoulders tense, winding up to snarl at her that his so called _family_ had been the ones to put him in the hospital.

That it was all over the news, after being leaked. The Sanford-Bagshawes had sent their ward to the hospital, and that there were signs that the abuse had been going on for a long time and, quite possibly, for as long as he had been in their, dubious, care.

Bilbo was lying in a hospital bed, alone, and without anyone there to hold his hand or talk to him or try to bring him back, and had been for two weeks.

Bofur probably would have started shouting, if a hand hadn’t clapped on his shoulder.

Bifur frowned at him and Bofur sighed before he thanked her for her time and walked away.

Ever since they had learned about Bilbo being hospitalized, the entire Company had been trying to get in, only to be rebuffed every time. Bofur had heard some whispers about how some other relatives had been visiting, and Bofur knew, for sure, that Aule and his wife, Yavanna, had both been here, though if they got to see Bilbo or not Bofur didn’t know.

Bofur sighed as Bifur rubbed his back and, as they headed out the door, they were nearly run into by…

“You!” Bofur exclaimed, his eyes narrowing as he saw Edwin standing there, even as the older man apologized softly.

Bilbo's so called bodyguard practically winced and Bofur wondered if he could sense the accusation rolling off of Bofur in waves or if it was just Bofur. "You were supposed to protect him!" Bofur snapped and Edwin winced at that.

Bifur was already tugging him away, or trying to, but Bofur fought him, wanting to shout and snarl. He couldn't lash out at the people who had put Bilbo in the hospital, but he _could_ lash out the person who just let it happen. Bofur was about to start screaming, when Bifur just hefted him up and carried him out. Bofur hit at Bifur’s back and soon they were outside of the hospital, out of the way, and Bifur was just hugging him close.

Bofur fought for a while longer, before he sunk into Bifur’s embrace and began to sob. “Why did this happen?” Bofur asked, even though with his head buried into Bifur’s chest he would never be able to see an answer.

Not that it mattered, as Bifur just kept hugging him close and rubbing his back as Bofur sobbed himself out in the comfort offered by Bifur.

*~*~*

Edwin sighed as he sat down next to Bilbo’s bedside.

After intensive questioning, almost being imprisoned for not reporting it (the discovery of the original report Edwin had made at the beginning of the abuse was what kept him _out_ of prison) and a great deal of negotiating, he got to sit with Bilbo for half an hour.

All of the Sanford-Bagshawes’ accounts had been frozen and they were locked out of using any of Bilbo’s assets, leaving them with a public defender. A public defender who would do his best, but was overloaded and there was no way he could win.

Edwin sighed softly and gently held the hand that wasn’t in a cast. “I’m sorry Bilbo,” he whispered as he ran his thumb along Bilbo’s fingers.

They said it was the blood loss and physical trauma that had his body reacting in such an extreme manner, and the one MRI scan they had done hadn’t revealed any brain trauma, but Edwin was reserving his judgment till Bilbo woke. “I’m sorry that I didn’t just kidnap you, hide you away. We could have left the country, or something,” Edwin stated as he continued to run his thumb comfortingly along Bilbo’s fingers.

“I should have protected you better. That’s my job, and I failed. More than just failure at my job, I failed you, because they controlled my employment, but I still should have done something. More than I did. But you remember what happened after the time I just locked us in my room and we snuck out to get you to school. It didn’t end well,” Edwin continued softly.

“Mr. Jeffries, it is time to go,” the nurse stated and Edwin nodded, standing up.

But when he tried to release Bilbo’s hand, he found that Bilbo was gripping his hand tightly. “Bilbo, can you hear me?” Edwin asked near breathlessly and the nurse was calling for the doctor, even as Edwin tried to get more of a response from Bilbo, who still refused to release his hand.

The doctor rushed in, just as Bilbo opened his eyes. They were foggy and Edwin immediately began to talk him, to keep him calm, but Bilbo was already slipping back under.

“We’ll have to see, but his awakening means that the swelling has finally gone down,” the doctor reassured and Edwin just nodded, even as he was lead out of the room by the nurse, Bilbo having released Edwin’s hand as he slipped back into sleep.

*~*~*

_“William Bagshawe woke briefly in the hospital, bringing up the question of whether Mr. Bagshawe will be able to give testimony to his former-guardians. In the meantime, both Lobelia and Othello Sanford-Bagshawe have charged guilty on charges of resisting arrest and Othello Sandford-Bagshawe has had the additional charge of assaulting a police officer. Their total jail sentence is being held off until the conclusion of the charges of child abuse. William Bagshawe, age fifteen, was put into his guardians’ care shortly after his parents’ deaths at the age of five. At the time, their deaths were ruled as an accident, but the reveal of the abuse of William Bagshawe brings the original ruling into question, especially as, after Bilbo, the Sanford-Bagshawes are set to inherit…”_


	23. Pawn or King?

The next time Bilbo awakes, it is for a bit longer than usual, and he panics over having a tube down his throat to help him breathe. It takes a doctor that makes him panic worse, and two nurses, one of whom reminds me of Mrs. Ironwood, to get him calm enough to cough it out. After that, things are blurry and tiring, with Bilbo only being awake for snatches of time before slipping back into sleep.

Once he starts to stay awake under his own power, it is hard to settle in a position that doesn’t hurt, as he has multiple cracked ribs that make his torso hurt, and his head always pounds. The drugs don’t do a great deal to remove either pain from him entirely, but they do lessen it, so he’s happy with that.

He’s told this is a good thing, that it means his body is healing, but nothing beats finally seeing Edwin and getting the truth from him.

Of learning that the lack of visitors is not only due to the fact a good portion of the visiting hours are during school hours, but also due to the fact Lobelia and Othello’s son, Lotho, who had been away at college, had threatened Bilbo’s life during a part of the trial.

Edwin isn’t there often, but neither is anyone else except the nurse who is assigned to him. Specifically, she is the one who reminds Bilbo of Mrs. Ironwood, Vána Hunter and, even more specifically, he’s only seen her during the daytime hours. While she checks on the IV bag’s level and checks various other machines around him, they talk, hesitantly on Bilbo’s part, about flowers.

One day, two weeks after he first woke up, he awakens to find Mrs. Ironwood sitting on the chair, reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose as she reads a large book settled on her lap. “Mrs. Ironwood?” he questioned softly and she jumped before she looked up, smiling brightly at him.

“Bilbo, you’re awake! And please, just Yavanna,” she responded warmly as she slipped a bookmark into the book in her lap and closed it.

The green of the cover reminded Bilbo of Bag-End’s door, the little cottage that was just his mother’s out in the country, how it was held in trust by the Greenhand family till Bilbo reached 18. He missed that door, and that cottage, and he…

He twitched, his hand jerking away slightly, and Yavanna murmured an apology. “Edwin just left. He’s been cleared of charges when it was revealed that your… _relations_ had threatened to have him arrested for kidnapping after framing him for your disappearance and later your murder if he tried to take you out of their care again, or did anything to undermine their power over you. He has court-mandated therapy, which is why he left,” Yavanna explained gently and Bilbo gave a small nod, even as he pulled his hand further from her, terrified of touching anyone, of staining them with who he was.

She sighed softly and smiled weakly at him before she carefully picked up the book from her lap and settled it next to him. “My visiting time is almost up, but till next time, would you please keep this with you? Maybe the next time I visit, we can talk about botany,” Yavanna stated as she stood up.

She pat the book’s cover gently and took a step when the door opened. “Yavanna, that lawyer is back,” Vána stated and Yavanna frowned.

“Can’t he just give up?” Yavanna demanded.

“What lawyer?” Bilbo asked.

“The prosecutor. He wants to get you on the stand while you are still severely injured and, as such, use you to get a sure fire win. It would make his career, put him up for District Attorney next year,” Yavanna explained and Bilbo felt himself pale at the thought.

“He says he has to, that without Bilbo’s testimony, they might not get a guilty conviction on child abuse,” Vána added softly and Bilbo stiffened even as Yavanna huffed and crossed her arms.

“Oh, he thinks so, does he?” Yavanna demanded before she rolled up her deep green sleeves and stormed out of the room, while Bilbo just stared straight ahead.

Beside him, Vána murmured soothingly as she checked his IV bag and Bilbo wondered if he truly had to be there to testify or if it was just something that was said so that he could be used as a pawn to further another’s career.

It was with that troubling thought that Bilbo slipped back into sleep.


End file.
